Despite the Odds
by Heartlocket1004
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is back, having spent the last two years clearing his name and dismantling Moriarty's network. He returns to Baker Street, expecting things to return to as they were, only to find John furious and Marie missing. Can Sherlock repair bonds or is he too late? Will he find happiness at last or will a shadow be cast on him forever? Sequel to 'Against the Odds'.
1. Return

_After extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty. Amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion, but sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who became something of a celebrity two years ago._

 _Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far, even going so far- insiders say- as suspecting Holmes' girlfriend, Rosanne Marie Jones, of being an international spy, another creation of James Moriarty. Jones disappeared shortly after Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from the top of London's Bart's Hospital. It is likely he and his girlfriend were unable to cope with…_

Mycroft raised his brows as he watched the news reports, sipping his tea. His phone rang and he glanced down at the number, sighing before he placed his teacup back in its saucer. He picked up the phone.

"Hello?" He asked. He listened intently and then sighed once more. "Of course. I'll see to it myself."

He ended the call, massaging his temples. His little brother was certainly keeping busy. Before he rose to attend to the latest incident Sherlock had caused, Mycroft paused. He looked back down at his phone, contemplating before he sighed for the third time. Picking it up, he typed a quick text- she wouldn't be able to answer a call at the moment- before standing up and leaving the room.

His phone made a soft ding as the message sent. ' _He will be back tonight. Wrap it up.'_

* * *

Mycroft P.O.V.

Mycroft sat calmly in the corner of the Russian holding cell, his legs propped up on a stool before him with his ankles casually crossed, as he watched the burly Russian torturer punching the chained intruder.

The dishevelled man grunted and groaned with each impact, staggering on his legs and unable to collapse as the chains on each wrist held him partially upright. The torturer finally paused, and the intruder coughed as his head fell forward, the chains pulled taut and keeping him somewhat upright.

"You broke in here for a reason." The torturer began, speaking in Russian as he paced before the prisoner. "Just tell us why and you can sleep."

Blood spilled from the intruder's mouth, probably from some minor internal bleeding.

"Remember sleep?" The torturer continued, taunting the prisoner. He raised a metal pipe, preparing to hit the prisoner's head when the prisoner began whispering something.

"What?" He asked, dropping the pipe and pulling the prisoner's head, leaning in to listen to what the man was saying.

"Well? What did he say?" Mycroft asked, also in Russian, and the Russian soldier replied in a confused voice: "He said that I used to work in the navy, where I had an unhappy love affair."

"What? Mycroft asked, still in Russian, and the torturer continued, listening to their prisoner and repeating: "That the electricity isn't working in my bathroom; and… that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbour! And?... The coffin maker! And? And?... If I go home now, I'll catch them at it!"

The Russian turned, spitting: "I knew it! I _knew_ there was something going on!"

He walked out, rushing home.

As the doors shut behind him, Mycroft said coldly in Russian: "So, my friend. Now it's just you and me."

He uncrossed his legs, commenting as he walked over to their prisoner: "You have no idea the trouble it took to find you."

He grabbed their prisoner's head, leaning in and whispered urgently in English: "Now listen to me. There's an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear."

Mycroft let go of his brother's neck as he ordered: "Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock's eyes remained closed but lips curved up into a small smirk. _Home at last._

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock read the paper, glancing over the headlines with disinterest. 'Skeleton Mystery', it read; Sherlock was more interested in seeing that 'Les Miserables' was scheduled to be showing this upcoming weekend at the Broadway Theatre. He hated musicals- they bored him almost more than sitting with nothing to do between cases- but Marie had once shared she loved them. Although she, too, hated Les Mis- too sad for apparently.

Sherlock folded the paper as Mycroft commented from where he was sitting at his desk, across the room: "You _have_ been busy, haven't you? Quite the busy little bee."

Sherlock just threw the paper aside, keeping his head still as the barber leaned over him, shaving his jaws clean carefully.

"Moriarty's network," Sherlock replied, " took me two years to dismantle it."

Mycroft questioned sceptically: "And you're confident you have?"

"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle." Sherlock dismissed.

He could hear the smirk in Mycroft's voice as his older brother commented: "Yes. You got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme."

"Colossal." Sherlock interjected smoothly and Mycroft dismissed: "Anyway, you're safe now."

Sherlock just hummed and Mycroft said pointedly: "A small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss."

Sherlock retorted calmly: "What for?"

"For wading in." Mycroft said, sounding annoyed. "In case you'd forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu."

Sherlock waved off the barber, who stepped back immediately at his signal. He grunted, wincing a little from the injuries sustained courtesy of his Russian torturer, as he pulled himself up to face his brother.

"'Wading in'?" He repeated incredulously.

"You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp." Sherlock accused and Mycroft retorted calmly: "I got you out."

Sherlock sneered as he corrected: "No, _I_ got me out."

When Mycroft rolled his eyes a little, Sherlock demanded: "Why didn't you intervene sooner?"

"Well, I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I?" Mycroft snapped. "It would have ruined everything."

Sherlock accused in a low voice: "You were enjoying it."

"Nonsense." Mycroft dismissed and Sherlock replied flatly: " _Definitely_ enjoying it."

Mycroft leaned forward in his desk as he demanded: "Listen: do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going 'under cover,' smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise; the people." He spat the last words with disgust.

Sherlock just leaned back dismissively, letting the barber continue as he commented: "I didn't know you spoke Serbian."

"I didn't," Mycroft answered loftily, "but the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple of hours."

"Hmm, you're slipping." Sherlock said condescendingly and Mycroft replied, hiding his irritation: "Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all."

Sherlock raised a brow and he commented: "You should've sent Marie. She speaks Russian and would've been of infinite more help."

Mycroft replied with a sneer: "Are you that eager to see your 'girlfriend'?"

He said the last word with mock air-quotes, the distaste clear in his voice. Sherlock ignored the jibe, glancing to the side as the door to the office opened. He was slightly disappointed to see it was only Mycroft's assistant, Anthea, although he was more pleased when the woman held up a smart suit, her brows raised.

* * *

John P.O.V.

John sat in the kitchen of 221A Baker Street as Mrs. Hudson prepared some tea for him. He looked around a little- the place hadn't changed at all in the last two years. He winced as Mrs. Hudson slammed the teacup onto the table before him.

Mrs. Hudson didn't even look at him, turning back to the counter to get the plate of biscuits. She promptly slammed them onto the table before John as well. John just watched silently as the elderly landlady grabbed the sugar bowl, slamming that down too before she paused.

"Oh no, you don't take it, do you?" She asked and John glanced at her before he agreed lightly: "No."

Mrs. Hudson shrugged a little as she commented forlornly: "You forget a little thing like that."

"Yes." John replied, trying to keep things light.

"You forget _lots_ of little things, it seems." Mrs. Hudson said pointedly, but she avoided John's eyes as the man glanced up at her.

He finally just muttered: "Uh-huh."

"Not sure about that." Mrs. Hudson suddenly added, motioning to the moustache John was sporting. "Ages you."

John shrugged as he replied nonchalantly: "Just trying it out."

"Well, it ages you." Mrs. Hudson snapped.

John looked at the landlady calmly, finally sighing as he began: "Look ..."

She interrupted, trying to sound understanding: "I'm not your mother. I've no right to expect it ..."

"No ..." John tried to interject but the landlady continued, her voice filling with hurt as she cried: "But just _one_ phone call, John. Just one phone call would have done."

"I know." John replied quietly, lowering his eyes in shame.

"After all we went through." Mrs. Hudson added, her face reflecting the hurt in her voice.

John looked up at last and he said in defeat: "Yes. I _am_ sorry."

The landlady sighed, taking a seat beside him.

"Look," she said sadly, "I understand how difficult it was for you after ... after …"

She trailed off, unable to continue and John said lightly: "I just let it slide, Mrs Hudson. I let it all slide." As the landlady lowered her eyes sadly, John admitted: "And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone somehow."

He sighed, and they sat in silence for a moment. John finally looked back at her as he asked: "D'you know what I mean?"

The kind old woman sighed deeply, reaching out to take John's hand. He clasped her hand tightly, returning her comforting grip as the two sat in mutual understanding pain. Mrs. Hudson finally murmured: "I'll take you upstairs. It's still empty- I couldn't bear to let it out after…well."

John just nodded silently, and the two walked upstairs together.

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock examined himself in the mirror as he tucked in his shirt. He'd finally returned to looking like himself, freshly showered with his dark hair back in neat curls, his face cleanly shaven.

Mycroft was pacing beside him, saying sternly: "I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?"

Sherlock finished tucking in his shirt as he replied nonchalantly: "What do you think of this shirt?"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft snapped as he stopped to glare at his little brother.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he replied dryly: "I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft."

He glanced at his brother before turning to pick up his suit jacket, muttering: "Just put me back in London."

Mycroft raised his hands to his hips, brows raised as he caught the longing in Sherlock's voice. Sherlock just continued in a low voice: "I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in. Feel every quiver of its beating heart."

"Are you talking about London, or _her_?" Mycroft retorted.

Sherlock didn't respond and Anthea spoke up, bringing them back to the topic at hand: "One of our men _died_ getting this information."

Sherlock glanced at her, brow raised, as she repeated the message calmly: "'All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there's going to be a terror strike on London. A big one'."

Sherlock interrupted, asking as he pulled on his jacket: "And what about John Watson?"

Anthea glanced at Mycroft, unsure what to say while Mycroft repeated in confusion: "John?"

"Mmm. Have you seen him?" Sherlock asked, looking over at his brother and Mycroft replied drly: "Oh, yes, we meet up every Friday for fish and chips."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning back to the mirror as he straightened his collar in disgust. Mycroft flicked his finger and Anthea passed a file to Sherlock as Mycroft said seriously: "I've kept a weather eye on him, of course."

Sherlock flipped the file open, examining the contents as Mycroft continued: "We haven't been in touch at all, to… prepare him."

"No." Sherlock muttered with a frown as he stared at the photo in the very front, taken quite recently.

"Well, we'll have to get rid of that." He muttered with finality as he pursed his lips at the furry caterpillar growing on John's upper lip.

"'We'?" Mycroft repeated questioningly and Sherlock said irritably: "Yes, 'we'. He looks ancient. I can't be seen to be wandering around with an old man."

He threw the file on Mycroft's desk, adding: "I can't imagine Marie being very pleased with it either. Where is she, anyway?"

Anthea's eyes slid to Mycroft who remained impassive. Sherlock's eyes narrowed at his brother and he stepped closer, repeating in a dark voice: "Where is she, Mycroft?"

Mycroft didn't look perturbed, although inside he was rather anxious, as he replied: "I have no idea."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed into slits, but he remained silent as Mycroft elaborated: "We sent her in undercover to learn more about the terrorist attack. I don't know precisely where she is at the moment, but I sent her a message about your return. No doubt she'll be back here soon to reunite with her beloved."

Sherlock ignored his brother's mocking tone, his mind processing this news. He folded his lips in irritation but let the topic slide as he walked back to the mirror. He buttoned his jacket and a thought occurred to him.

"I think I'll surprise John. He'll be delighted!" Sherlock murmured, smiling a little at the thought.

Mycroft looked amused as he asked, crossing his arms: "You think so?"

Sherlock hummed as he thought aloud: "I'll pop into Baker Street. Who knows, jump out of a cake." Sherlock joked mockingly.

"Baker Street?" Mycroft repeated questioningly. "He isn't there any more."

Sherlock looked at his brother in surprise as Mycroft asked condescendingly: "Why _would_ he be? It's been two years. He's got on with his life."

" _What_ life? I've been away. So has Marie, if my guess is corrected." Sherlock pointed incredulously.

Mycroft just turned away, almost in exasperation. Sherlock ignored him as he asked: "Where's he going to be tonight?"

"How would I know?" Mycroft retorted and Sherlock smirked.

"You always know." He pointed out.

Mycroft sighed but he replied: "He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road."

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought while Mycroft continued: "Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion, though I prefer the 2001."

"I think maybe I'll just… drop by." Sherlock murmured.

Mycroft paused before he said in a quiet voice: "You know, it is just possible that you won't be welcome."

"No it isn't." Sherlock snorted. He turned to his brother as he added impatiently: "Now, where is it?"

Mycroft feigned ignorance as he asked: "Where's what?"

Sherlock snapped irritably: "You know what."

There were footsteps behind them and the brothers parted to look back. Sherlock smirked to see Anthea there, holding up his coat. He turned to let her slide it on.

"Welcome back, Mr Holmes." She said coolly and Sherlock muttered as he fixed the collar: "Thank you"

He turned to his brother and greeted dismissively: "Blud."

* * *

3rd person P.O.V.

Sherlock walked into the Marylebone Road that evening, allowing his coat to be removed as he stepped into the posh restaurant. He immediately scanned the whole place as he stepped inside, a waiter meeting him at the door.

"Sir, may I help you?" The waiter said politely and Sherlock quickly scanned the man.

As the man's phone beeped quietly, Sherlock replied: "Your wife just texted you. Possibly her contractions have started."

The waiter turned to his phone in shock, too absorbed in the news to question the strange man. Sherlock stepped into the restaurant smugly as he spotted John sitting at a table in the far side of the room. He paused, and a waitress walked passed him, murmuring: "'Scuse me, sir."

Sherlock glanced down, noting the bowtie on the woman. His eyes slid to the other side, noting a glass of water on the table near him. He smirked as he thought of an idea and walked over, knocking the glass into the man sitting at the table and splashing the elderly gentleman.

"Sir, I'm so, so sorry!" Sherlock said hastily, quickly placing the napkin over the wet man and using it to hide his other hand as he pulled off the man's bowtie. He continued, distractingly: "Please, let me just go to the kitchen and, er, dry that off for you."

He walked off quickly, placing the bowtie around his own neck as he saw a man remove his reading glasses, placing them down with his menu. Sherlock walked over quickly, asking: "Finished with that, sir? Allow me to take it for you."

The man didn't even look up at him, just waving him off and Sherlock took the menu and the glasses. He placed the glasses on the bridge of his nose, noting a woman's open clutch on a nearby table.

"Madam, can I suggest you look at this menu? It's, er, completely identical." He murmured to the woman softly, switching out her menu casually as he reached into her clutch and took out the liquid eyeliner that had been sticking partially out.

The woman didn't notice, barely hearing what he'd said and simply taking the new menu. Sherlock turned around, casually drawing on a small fake moustache as he stopped beside John.

"Can I 'elp you with anything, sir?" He asked in a French accent and John replied, not looking up as he pulled the wine list up and said, to who he thought was the waiter, urgently: "Hi, yeah. I'm looking for a bottle of champagne – a good one."

"Mmm! Well, these are all excellent vintages, sir." Sherlock continued to act and John mumbled: "Er, it's not really my area. What do you suggest?"

Sherlock replied in his fake accent: "Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you'd like my personal recommendation…"

"Mm-hm." John nodded, listening intently.

Sherlock pointed to a random one as he said: "This last one on the list is a favourite of mine. It is, you might, in fact, say," he straightened, taking off his glasses with a flourish, "like a face from ze past."

"Great. I'll have that one, please." John replied, not looking up as he grabbed his glass of wine, taking a large and slightly nervous gulp.

Sherlock stood frozen, unsure how to proceed. He tried again, his accent transforming back to sound more like his usual voice as he said: "It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!"

He lifted his hands in a 'surprise' gesture, hoping to get a reaction but John just replied as he glanced back down at the wine list: "Well, surprise me."

John handed over the list, not looking up. Sherlock snatched it as he muttered: "Certainly endeavouring to, sir."

John didn't even notice, he was too caught up in his thoughts as he prepared himself. As the 'waiter' walked away, he reached into his jacket, pulling out the red velvet box. He popped it open, checking the diamond ring inside before he closed it again, placing it on the table.

He kept fiddling with it nervously, anxiety beginning to seep in as he tried to ready himself for the greatest moment in his life. A hand suddenly touched his shoulder lightly, and he quickly grabbed the box, hiding it as he looked up at the beautiful blonde woman as she moved to sit opposite him.

"Sorry that took so long." Mary Morstan said as she settled into her seat. She smiled at him, and noticing his nervous smile she asked: "You okay?"

John grinned genuinely as he replied awkwardly: "Yeah, yeah. Me? Fine. I am _fine._ "

She chuckled at him, and John's face went soft as he gazed at the woman. Mary smiled back before she asked: "Now then, what did you want to ask me?"

John hesitated, and he asked: "More wine?"

"No, I'm good with water, thanks." She replied and he muttered: "Right."

John took a deep breath, calming his nerves. Mary raised her brows and she prompted: "So ..."

John began, stumbling a little as he tried to get his words out: "Er, so ... Mary. Listen, erm ... I know it hasn't been long ... I mean, I know we haven't known each other for a long time ..."

"Go on." She prompted when he paused, a small smile appearing on her face.

"Yes, I will." John replied, taking a fortifying breath as he continued slowly: "As you know, these last couple of years haven't been easy for me; and meeting you ... Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened."

"I agree." Mary interjected laughingly.

"What?" John asked, suddenly side-tracked and Mary just replied: "I agree I'm the best thing that could have happened to you."

John chuckled and Mary smiled as she said a little contritely: "Sorry."

"Well, no. That's, um ..." John reassured, trying to get back on track. He paused and then began slowly: "So ... if you'll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um ..."

He trailed off, finding it difficult to form the right words. Mary began to laugh a little as John cleared his throat, her face torn between amusement and delight. John tried again: "If you could see your way to ..."

He was interrupted as Sherlock returned, saying in his accent: "Sir, I think you'll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking."

Mary hid her face a little, her face showing her embarrassment and amusement as their 'waiter' rambled on, unaware of what he'd interrupted: "It 'as all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new."

John interrupted, annoyed: "No, sorry, not now, please."

The 'waiter' just continued: "Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers ... suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of," Sherlock's voice changed back to his normal tone as he removed the fake glasses and finished, " an old friend."

"No, look, seriously, could you just ..." John began in an amused and annoyed tone, but he trailed off as he looked up at last and saw Sherlock. His face changed, becoming white.

Sherlock commented: "Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends, and anonymity to waiters."

Mary glanced between Sherlock and John, taking in John's absolutely shocked expression.

"John?' She asked worriedly as John stood, reeling and breathing heavily as he stared at his friend. "John, what is it? What?"

As John stood, in shock, Sherlock replied for him: "Well, short version."

Sherlock clasped his hands before him as he said in a quiet voice: "Not Dead."

John stared at the man, his face white and fighting tears. Sherlock finally seemed to understand the gravity of the situation as he began to ramble.

"Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defence, it was very funny." He tried a laugh but as John's face darkened he muttered: "Okay, it's not a great defence."

"Oh no!" Mary gasped, gazing up at Sherlock as she realized just what was happening. "You're ..."

Sherlock nodded as he replied, still looking at John: "Oh yes."

Oh, my God." Mary breathed in horror and Sherlock muttered: "Not quite."

"You died. You jumped off a roof." Mary said in a hushed voice and Sherlock replied out of the corner of his mouth: "No."

Mary bit out: "You're _dead._ "

Sherlock finally turned to look at the woman as he replied lightly: "No. I'm quite sure, I checked."

He gave her a strained polite smile as he grabbed her napkin and glass of water.

"Excuse me." He muttered as he dipped the napkin into the water and began to rub at the fake moustache he'd drawn on. He asked John casually: "Does, er, does yours rub off, too?"

John's eye twitched while Mary began to cry in horror: "Oh my God, oh my God. Do you have _any_ idea what you've done to him?"

It seemed Sherlock did- now- as he said quickly: "Okay, John, I'm suddenly realising I probably owe you some sort of an apology."

John slammed a fist into the table, cutting Sherlock off. Mary mumbled, trying to calm John even as she worked through her own shock: "All right, just ... John? Just keep ..."

She trailed off as John bit out: "Two years."

John breathed heavily as Sherlock watched his friend silently.

"Two years." John repeated, bowing his head. He continued, his voice thick with repressed emotions as he fought to stay calm: "I thought ... I thought ... you were dead. Hmm?" He questioned. "Now, you let me grieve, hmm?"

Sherlock's mind raced as he realized what was wrong and he tried to find a way out of his current dilemma. John continued, biting the words out in raw pain: "How could you do that? _How?"_

Sherlock said quickly: "Wait, before you do anything that you might regret ... um, one question. Just let me ask one question."

He rambled a little, trying to salvage the situation. John waited, Mary looking up at him with a confused expression as the detective scrambled to say something.

"Are you really gonna keep that?" Sherlock asked out of the blue, indicating John's moustache.

He smiled, happy with what he'd come up with while Mary gave a snort, torn between disbelief and amusement. Unfortunately, those words snapped the last bit of self-restraint John had and the shorter man lunged at his friend. He grabbed Sherlock's front, shoving him to the ground in his fury while Mary and the restaurant's waiters grabbed John, pulling him off the startled detective.


	2. The Empty Hearse

The three sat in a local restaurant, Mary and John sitting across from Sherlock with their arms folded.

Sherlock sat directly opposite John as he explained: "I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I'd invited Moriarty onto the roof. I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible. The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling…"

John interrupted as he snapped: "You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick."

Sherlock paused, frowning as he asked: "What?"

"I don't _care_ _how_ you faked it, Sherlock." John bit out. "I wanna know _why_."

"'Why'?" Sherlock repeated, confused. He explained as though it was obvious: "Because Moriarty had to be stopped."

He saw John's incredulous expression and Mary's slight wince and it clicked.

"Oh." He murmured. "'Why' as in..."

John nodded while Sherlock lowered his gaze.

"I see. Yes. 'Why?' That's a little more difficult to explain." He tried to avoid the topic but John cut in flatly: "I've got all night."

Sherlock cleared his throat as he admitted: "Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft's idea."

John asked, in disbelief: "Oh, so it's your _brother's_ plan?"

Mary interjected, getting caught up in the moment: "Oh, what, he would have needed a confidant…"

She trailed off as John looked at her while Sherlock nodded: "Mm-hm."

Mary looked contrite as she apologized to John: "Sorry."

John turned back to Sherlock as he demanded: "But he was the only one? The only one who knew…?"

John trailed off as a new thought occurred to him and he groaned.

"Oh, of course." John muttered. "Marie knew, didn't she?"

Sherlock paused before he nodded. John sighed as he muttered: "That's why she disappeared isn't it? What, did the two of you have fun without me?" John demanded angrily and both Sherlock and Mary winced.

"She didn't come with me- she stayed here, looking out for you and the others." Sherlock explained.

John asked incredulously: "How the hell; when did you even plan-"

Sherlock interrupted: "Did you never question the perfect timing of her arrival? She left much earlier towards me than you did, but she arrived right as you did."

He pointed out and John replied in exasperation: "I… her phone records showed she was on the other side of town when I called her, so I just thought…"

"As you were meant to think." Sherlock murmured.

John was outraged as he snapped: "So, she was in it. How did you even manage it, she was terrified of Moriarty, I saw it-"

Sherlock interrupted: "She had to pretend that she was terrified of Moriarty, that he was the one thing she was so afraid of that her mind became an enemy instead of an ally. Fear overpowering genius."

John sat back, gaping at him.

Sherlock let John process this, and watched as his friend shrugged, putting the thought on hold as he demanded: "But that was it? Just your brother and Marie?"

Sherlock sighed as he replied: "Couple of others."

John's head dropped in defeat as Sherlock continued: "It was a very elaborate plan – it _had_ to be. The next of the thirteen possibilities..."

John interrupted as he asked with a sigh: "Who else? Who else knew?"

As Sherlock hesitated John demanded angrily: "Who?"

"Molly." Sherlock said quickly and John repeated with a frown: "Molly?"

Mary whispered warningly: "John."

Sherlock spoke over her as he corrected: "Molly Hooper and some of my homeless network, and that's all." He reassured.

"Okay." John said with forced calm and Sherlock leaned back in satisfaction. Mary smiled a little, showing she was proud of John for keeping his temper in check as John repeated: "Okay."

He looked back at Sherlock as he listed, voice sharp: "So just your brother, and your girlfriend, and Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps."

Mary's smile fell and she winced while Sherlock scoffed.

"No!" Sherlock denied with a reassuring smile that dropped as he said seriously: "Twenty-five at most-"

He was cut off as John lunged across the table at him.

* * *

The three stood in a small fish and chip shop, Mary leaning against the counter. Sherlock was holding a handkerchief against his burst lip, grimacing while John stood between the two, scuffing his shoe on the ground.

Sherlock glanced at John and suddenly asked: "Seriously, it's not a joke? You're-you're really keeping this?"

He indicated the moustache. Mary glanced at him before turning away. John looked at his friend contemplatively but he had calmed down somewhat by now so he decided to let the moment go.

"Yeah." John replied as he cleared his throat.

Sherlock nodded before he checked: "Sure?"

His face showed his disapproval so John defended confidently: "Mary likes it."

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed before he replied flatly: "no she doesn't."

John retorted: "She does."

"She doesn't." Sherlock muttered as he averted his gaze, going back to tending to his cut lip. John glanced over at Mary for support.

She saw the look and muttered with a scoff: "Oh, don't."

John groaned as he touched his moustache defensively: "Oh! Brilliant."

Mary started to apologized profusely as she tried to defend herself: "I'm sorry. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you."

John interrupted: "No, no, this is charming. I've really missed this."

He spat as he pointed out Sherlock. Mary just looked down, giving up and John returned to scuffing his shoe on the ground. He suddenly turned on Sherlock, snapping: " _One word_ , Sherlock. That is all I would have needed. One word to let me know that you were alive!"

John turned back to the ground, taking a deep breath and Sherlock murmured: "I've nearly been in contact _so_ many times, but…"

John scoffed and Sherlock continued defensively: "Marie said I should, but I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet."

"What?" John demanded and Sherlock elaborated, misunderstanding his confusion: "Well, you know, let the cat out of the bag."

John snapped angrily: "Oh, so this is _my_ fault?!"

"Oh, God!" Mary groaned.

John shouted furiously:" Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong? The only one reacting like a human being?!"

"Over-reacting." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"'Over-reacting'?!" John repeated incredulously.

"John!" Mary chided but John continued, ignoring her as he said angrily to Sherlock: "'Over-reacting'. So you fake your own death,"

Sherlock looked alarmed as he hissed: "Shh."

John just continued: "and you waltz in 'ere large as bloody life…"

"Shh!" Sherlock hissed but John continued, his voice becoming louder and louder as he said furiously: "But I'm not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes thinks it's a perfectly OKAY THING TO DO!"

Sherlock yelled at last in exasperation: "Shut up, John! I don't want everyone knowing I'm still alive!"

"Oh, so it's still a secret, is it?" John spat and Sherlock shouted back: "Yes! It's still a secret!"

He glanced around the shop, muttering ironically: "Promise you won't tell anyone."

"Swear to God!" John yelled angrily, before he glanced around the shop, finally realizing how loud they'd been. He looked away, taking deep breaths.

Sherlock sighed and then leaned in, whispering to John: "London is in danger, John. There's an imminent terrorist attack and I need your help."

John stared at him in complete disbelief. He repeated: "My help?"

Sherlock's lips curved in a smirk as he said: "You have missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the three of us against the rest of the world…"

He was cut off once more as John grabbed his friend's lapels for the third time that night.

* * *

Sherlock groaned as he kept his head leaned back.

"I don't understand." He murmured as he moved to pinch his bloody nose. "I said I'm sorry. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

He quickly moved his handkerchief to his nose, stemming the blood flow. They were standing outside the chip shop, John a little further away as he tried to hail down a cab. Mary was staring at Sherlock as shed asked incredulously: "Gosh. You don't know anything about human nature, do you?"

"Mmm, nature? No." Sherlock said dismissively. He then glanced at Mary as he said: "Human? ... No." He said in a low, mysterious voice.

Mary smirked, probably guessing he was thinking about Marie, before she nodded at John and said: "I'll talk him round."

Sherlock paused, looking down at the woman curiously.

"You will?" He asked sceptically and Mary just smiled as she replied with a nod: "Oh yeah."

Sherlock raised his brows just slightly, running his eyes up and down this woman, scanning her quickly. He paused as some things stood out and his eye twitched just slightly. Mary just smiled at him, when John called: "Mary."

They turned to see John had caught a cab and Mary gave Sherlock one last smile before she left. Sherlock watched the pair leave, pausing for a moment longer as he thought about what he'd seen, and trying to ignore the tugging in his heart as he thought about Marie. Sherlock slowly turned, walking away into the night.

* * *

Marie P.O.V.

Marie wearily returned from her latest scouting trip, dropping her bag as she rolled her shoulders. She dropped to her knees, pulling out the phone Mycroft had given her for emergencies. She rubbed her legs, stretching sore muscles as she waited for the phone to switch on.

It had been a long two years, and to say Marie was ticked off was an understatement. She had expected Sherlock to go M.I.A. but she hadn't expected for him to disappear off the face of the planet without any contact. It had been two years now, and she was fed up with the high-functioning sociopath. Would it have killed him to send her one text?

She'd grown so frustrated that Mycroft had eventually commissioned her on this terrorist gig. She'd found as much information as possible, but given her now high profile, it was difficult to remain undiscovered. The result had been the death of another agent; qualified, but not as skilled as she was. But with the new terrorism bill being passed in the next two days, she would be needed back in London soon. She was just waiting for Mycroft's signal.

Her phone beeped and she glanced down. She read Mycroft's text and her eyes widened. Immediately forgetting any pain and exhaustion, Marie jumped to her feet. Grabbing her few belongings, she was out the door, texting on her phone quickly to book her flight back home.

It would only be a matter of time before the news of Sherlock's return broke out, which meant her stakeout position would become meaningless. Her identity would soon be discovered and she'd need extraction anyway- probably why Mycroft had added the order to come back immediately.

It would take time to get back to England, and get into London undetected. But it would be worth it.

 _Sherlock_.

* * *

Molly walked to her locker wearily at the end of another long night shift. She creaked the door open, and gasped as a man's face reflected back at her in the mirror. She turned, grinning a little as she stared at the familiar face again after two years.

* * *

Lestrade strode into the police car lot, sighing before he began to dig in his pockets. There was a sound and he glanced up but seeing nothing he shrugged it off as he pulled out a cigarette pack. He stuck one in his mouth and had just pulled out his lighter, clicking it to light the cigarette when a familiar voice rang out.

"Those things will kill you."

Lestrade paused, and he stood in shock for a full five seconds before he murmured: "Oh, you bastard!"

He pulled the unlit cigarette out of his mouth and turned to see Sherlock stepping out of the shadows.

"It's time to come back." Sherlock replied. He levelled a look at Lestrade as he added: "You've been letting things slide, Graham."

"Greg." Lestrade snapped.

Sherlock paused and he corrected: "Greg."

Lestrade stared at him wordlessly before he reached out and pulled the detective into a tight hug. Sherlock grunted at the sudden movement, but Lestrade ignored him as he hugged his friend in relief.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was doing the dishes late at night, listening to the radio when she heard a noise outside. Grabbing a pot, she peered out warily, lifting the pot defensively. She stared as a familiar shadow appeared at the windows of the front door to 221 Baker Street- curly hair and a coat collar tugged upright.

The pot drooped as she lowered her arms in shock as the door clicked open, and she stared as the door opened to reveal Sherlock. As the man took a step inside, she screamed in complete surprise.

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock had taken all the data he'd gathered and pinned it to his wall, connecting them in the haphazard mess that only he could read and understand. Well, him and Marie. He'd pinned up pictures of several persons and their locations, amongst other information including a map of London.

"London." Sherlock said thoughtfully. "It's like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents and drifters are irresistibly drained. Sometimes it's not a question of 'Who?'; it's a question of 'Who Knows?' There are certain people – they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up– like rats deserting a sinking ship."

Mycroft sighed from his seat across from his brother.

"All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to critical." He said pointedly.

Sherlock just stared at him as he replied: "Boring."

There was a wooden click and he added: "Your move."

Mycroft said sternly: "We have solid information. An attack is coming."

He glanced down at the board between him and Sherlock.

"'Solid information'." Sherlock said scornfully. "A secret terrorist organisation's planning an attack – that's what secret terrorist organisations _do_ , isn't it? It's their version of golf."

Mycroft looked at him coldly as he replied flatly: "An agent gave his life to tell us that."

"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done." Sherlock mocked. "He was obviously just trying to show off."

Mycroft just replied coolly: "Your girlfriend was behind that message- she was the one who ensured its delivery to me."

Sherlock frowned and Mycroft smirked a little at seeing the flash of worry that passed through his younger brother's eyes. ' _She really is his weakness_.' Mycroft changed the subject, asking: "None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?"

A wooden click sounded.

"Your move." He added.

Sherlock glanced down before looking at his brother as he replied: "No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I'll find the answer. It'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad." Another click. "Your move."

Mycroft glanced down before he said to Sherlock coolly: "I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're on the case."

"' _I'm_ on the case'?" Sherlock repeated incredulously. "We're _both_ on the case. Look at us right now."

The game board buzzed as Mycroft's piece hit the side.

"Oh, bugger!" Mycroft cursed as he looked down at the 'Operation' board and Sherlock mocked: "Oopsie!"

Mycroft dropped the piece back into the 'heart'. Sherlock taunted: "Can't handle a broken heart – how _very_ telling."

"Don't be smart." Mycroft retorted as Sherlock leaned back in his seat.

Sherlock snorted: "That takes me back. Don't be smart, Sherlock. _I'm_ the smart one'." He quoted in a mocking little boy's voice.

"I _am_ the smart one." Mycroft replied darkly.

"I used to think I was an idiot." Sherlock mused with a frown and Mycroft scoffed as he also leaned back in his seat: "Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on 'til we met other children."

Sherlock grimaced as he muttered: "Oh, yes, that was a mistake."

Mycroft agreed: "Ghastly." He paused and then asked in a disgusted voice: "What _were_ they thinking of?"

"Probably something about trying to make friends." Sherlock mused and Mycroft sneered: "Oh yes. _Friends._ Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now."

He looked at Sherlock pointedly who simply asked, his eyes narrowed as he observed his brother: "And you don't? Ever?"

Mycroft retorted: "If _you_ seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what _real_ people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish."

He dismissed. Sherlock steepled his fingers as he pointed out: "Yes, but I've been away for two years."

"So?" Mycroft asked and Sherlock shrugged as he replied airily: "Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a ... goldfish."

He mocked and Mycroft grimaced, standing up as he ordered distastefully: "Change the subject – now!"

Sherlock grinned but he did as requested as he said: "Rest assured, Mycroft – whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre."

"Ooh-ooh!" Mrs. Hudson hooted cheerfully as she walked in.

"Speaking of which." Mycroft scoffed and Sherlock just grinned while Mrs. Hudson placed a tea tray on the coffee table, sighing happily as she gazed at Sherlock.

"I can't believe it." She said delightedly. "I just can't believe it! Him, sitting in his chair again!"

Sherlock smiled, his face softening just a little, although it darkened for a brief moment as Mrs. Hudson murmured: "Now, we just need Rose-Marie back and it would be perfect. Oh, isn't it wonderful, Mr Holmes?" She asked, addressing Mycroft.

"I can barely contain myself." Mycroft said dryly, and Sherlock added: "Oh, he really can, you know."

Mrs. Hudson just chuckled as she walked back out, saying: "He's secretly pleased to see you underneath all that..."

She mimicked Mycroft's snobbish and aloof air and Sherlock grinned.

"Sorry, which of us?" Mycroft asked, pointing out Sherlock's tendency to act in the same way.

Mrs. Hudson just retorted cheekily: "Both of you."

She left and Sherlock clapped his hands together as he declared lightly: "Let's play something different."

Mycroft scoffed as he demanded impatiently: "Why are we playing games?"

Sherlock replied nonchalantly as he walked over to his desk: "Well, London's terror alert has been raised to critical. I'm just passing the time. Let's do deductions."

He picked up a knitted beanie, asking: "Client left this while I was out. What do you reckon?"

He tossed it over to his brother. Mycroft caught it even as he retorted: "I'm busy."

"Oh, go on. It's been an _age._ " Sherlock challenged, his hands clasped behind his back.

Mycroft gave the hat a quick once-over, sniffing it briefly, before glancing at his brother and murmuring: "I always win."

"Which is why you can't resist." Sherlock pointed out.

Mycroft scoffed, saying scornfully: "I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis."

Sherlock lifted and amused brow and Mycroft paused, before he muttered in defeat: "Damn!"

He tossed the hat back to Sherlock who commented: "Isolated, too, don't you think?"

Mycroft asked: "Why would he be isolated?"

"'He'?" Sherlock repeated, looking up from the hat and staring at Mycroft intently.

Mycroft shrugged as he replied: "Obviously."

"Why? Size of the hat?" Sherlock demanded, and Mycroft smirked as he replied: "Don't be silly. Some women have large heads too."

Sherlock paused, looking down petulantly as Mycroft pointed out: "No, he's recently had his hair cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside."

Sherlock muttered sulkily: "Some women have short hair, too."

Mycroft said derisively: "Balance of probability."

Sherlock muttered under his breath: "Not that you've ever spoken to a woman with short hair – or, you know, a woman."

Mycroft ignored that jibe as he continued: "Stains show he's out of condition, and he's sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four-"

"Five times." Sherlock interrupted, throwing the hat back at Mycroft as he continued: "Very neatly. The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it's more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five's excessive behaviour. Obsessive compulsive."

Mycroft scoffed as he pointed out: "Hardly. Your client left it behind. What sort of an obsessive compulsive would do that?"

He threw the hat back at Sherlock as he continued: "The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he's worn it abroad, in Peru."

"Peru?" Sherlock questioned and Mycroft explained: "This is a Chullo – the classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca."

"No." Sherlock retorted with a knowing smirk and Mycroft challenged questioningly: "No?"

"Icelandic sheep wool." Sherlock explained. "Similar, but very distinctive _if_ you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres."

Mrs. Hudson had returned, carrying a pot of tea for Sherlock and she chimed in derisively: "I'm sure there's a crying need for that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but returned his attention to Mycroft as he prompted: "You said he was anxious."

Mycroft pointed out: "The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition but-"

Sherlock interrupted as he looked at the bobble in question: "But also a creature of habit because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right."

"Precisely." Mycroft said with a mirthless smile.

Sherlock took a whiff and he grimaced as he said: "Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath. Brilliant!"

He finished in mock admiration as he turned around, facing away from his older brother.

"Elementary." Mycroft dismissed but Sherlock commented: "But you've missed his isolation."

Mycroft paused and then admitted: "I don't see it."

Sherlock cocked his head as he taunted: "Plain as day."

"Where?" Mycroft demanded but Sherlock continued airily: "There for all to see."

"Tell me." Mycroft ordered.

"Plain as the nose on your-" Sherlock continued mockingly.

Mycroft interrupted as he ordered sharply: " _Tell_ me."

Sherlock whirled around as he snapped: "Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"

Mycroft snorted as he scoffed: "Not at all. Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated."

Mrs. Hudson glanced up nervously from where she'd been cleaning Sherlock's kitchen. Sherlock however shrugged his shoulders as he replied diffidently: "Exactly."

Mycroft paused, blinking rapidly before asking incredulously: "I'm sorry?"

Sherlock looked at his brother as he agreed: "He's different, so what? Why would he mind? You're quite right."

Mycroft was looking confused, not understanding where Sherlock was going with this. Sherlock placed the hat on his head, and turned to look at Mycroft.

"Why would _anyone_ mind?" He murmured suggestively and Mycroft finally understood.

He paused, so shocked by Sherlock's subtle jibe that he gaped a little before he finally managed to say firmly: "I'm not lonely, Sherlock."

Mrs. Hudson had walked up anxiously, peering at the brothers while Sherlock just levelled a look at his elder brother. Mycroft frowned at him as Sherlock approached his brother slowly.

Sherlock stopped right before Mycroft and asked in a low, mysterious voice: "How would you know?"

Sherlock removed the hat as he walked away, while Mycroft said in a mix of weariness, disgust, and shock: "Yes. Back to work if you don't mind. Good morning."

He left without a backwards glance while Sherlock sent Mrs. Hudson a wink. The good landlady chuckled in delight as she wandered back to finish drying Sherlock's dishes.

"Right. Back to work." Sherlock muttered, turning to his wall.

His eyes narrowed as Mycroft's words played in his mind. ' _Your girlfriend was behind that message- she was the one who ensured its delivery to me.'_ He wondered very briefly if Marie really was alright- it made him anxious not knowing where and how she was- but he dismissed it as he tried to focus on the task before him.


	3. Try

Sherlock waited patiently, standing at the windows of 221B Baker Street. He stared unseeingly at the normal people who wandered around the London streets, so absorbed in their petty lives- how boring it must be.

He briefly thought of Marie; she would have either laughed or scolded him for such thoughts. Sherlock was brought out of his thoughts as he heard a step behind him, and he looked back out of the corner of his eye as his expected visitor arrived.

"You wanted to see me?" Molly Hooper asked, and Sherlock turned around to face the woman.

"Yes." He declared, walking over to the woman as he questioned: "Molly?"

"Yes?" She asked expectantly.

Sherlock struggled to ask, pausing in his question as he pondered whether this would actually be a good idea. Somehow, it felt like he was betraying John and Marie as he asked slowly: "Would you ..."

He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing: "Would you like to ..."

"Have dinner?" Molly asked at the same time Sherlock finished: ".. solve crimes?"

Sherlock winced a little while Molly's face became a mixture of embarrassed and thoughtful.

"Oh…" The woman paused a little, having heard the slight loneliness in the detective's voice. She thought about Sherlock's disappearance, those years ago, and noticed John's absence right now. Rose-Marie was also still missing, from what Molly understood, and she assumed the woman was most likely still grieving Sherlock's 'death' and not having heard about his return.

"Um…" Molly began, and Sherlock raised a brow questioningly.

* * *

"Monkey glands." Sherlock announced, facing the wall.

"But enough about Professor Presbury. Tell us more about your case, Mr Harcourt." He demanded, walking back to the centre of the living room where Mr. and Mrs. Harcourt were. The woman sat in John's chair while the man stood stiffly beside his wife, and Molly sat across the pair in the desk chair.

"Are you sure about this?" Molly asked in a whisper as Sherlock paced before her and Sherlock replied reassuringly: "Absolutely."

Molly didn't look convinced but was determined to do the best she could, so she asked: "Should I be making notes?"

"If it makes you feel better." Sherlock replied lightly, taking a seat in his armchair, but he paused just fractionally as Molly admitted: "It's just that that's what John says he does, so if I'm being John..."

"You're not being John, you're being yourself." Sherlock corrected.

Molly paused, cocking her head a little but they returned to the case at hand as Mr. Harcourt said: "Well, absolutely no one should have been able to empty that bank account other than myself and Helen."

The man indicated his wife, and Sherlock glanced over the man, quickly scanning him. Sherlock asked curtly, standing quickly: "Why didn't you assume it was your wife?"

"Because I've always had total faith in her." Mr. Harcourt replied testily and Sherlock stood before the man as he corrected: "No, it's because you emptied it."

Sherlock listed quickly, vaguely indicating each observation: "Weight loss, hair dye, Botox; affair." Sherlock thrust a card before Mrs. Harcourt, finishing dismissively: "Lawyer."

He turned away from the pair as Mrs. Harcourt took the card numbly while Mr Harcourt and Molly stared in shock.

"Next!" Sherlock called.

* * *

"And your pen pal's emails just stopped, did they?" Sherlock asked in a soft voice as he patted the woman's hand sympathetically.

She nodded, choking on a sob. The woman was sitting on the couch, Sherlock kneeling before her as he gently soothed her. Molly shook her head in sympathy as she wrote down the information.

"And you really thought he was the one, didn't you?" Sherlock asked softly, and the woman continued to sob, nodding, while the woman's father sat beside her, watching with pitiful eyes. Sherlock continued softly: "The love of your life?"

Sherlock turned to Molly as the woman continued to sob. Sherlock walked over, his face going cold and blank as he muttered to her: "Stepfather posing as online boyfriend."

"What?" Molly breathed in shock, and Sherlock explained: "Breaks it off, breaks her heart. She swears off relationships, stays at home; he still has her wage coming in."

Sherlock turned to face the man in question as he said sharply: "Mr Windibank, you have been a complete and utter…"

Molly winced.

* * *

"This one's got us all baffled." Lestrade was saying as he removed the police tape off of a cellar door.

"Mmm. I don't doubt it." Sherlock muttered as he followed Lestrade into a hidden room. Molly trailed behind as Lestrade switched on a small lamp, illuminating the cellar-room to reveal a skeleton sitting behind a desk in the centre of the room.

The skeleton was well dressed in a dusty suit, possibly from the length of time passed since death or from the burnt embers, suggesting the body had been burnt. But Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he examined the scene, giving it a quick scan before he moved closer.

Molly stood nearby, her hand poised and ready to take notes as Sherlock began to sniff the suit. He frowned as he detected the smell of some kind of tree. ' _Pine? Spruce? Cedar- new mothballs_.' He concluded.

He continued to examine the suit, sniffing as he frowned, noting the carbon particle- confirming his initial conclusion on fire damage. He stood, examining the air as Molly asked curiously: "What is it? You're on to something, aren't you?" She asked, sounding a little excited as she waited expectantly.

"Mm, maybe." Sherlock murmured back, when John's voice murmured in his head: ' _Show off._ '

"Shut up, John." Sherlock muttered under his breath. Lestrade gave him an odd look, while in Sherlock's mind he heard Marie's chiding voice: ' _Sherlock, don't insult John. He's right- you're just showing off._ '

"Marie." Sherlock scolded under his breath, and Molly questioned: "What?"

"Hmm? Nothing." Sherlock replied, waving it off. Molly and Lestrade exchanged looks, both of them raising their eyebrows as Sherlock continued to circle the skeleton.

Sherlock had leaned down to peer at the left side of the suit and Lestrade leaned in, whispering to him: "This gonna be your new arrangement, is it?"

He nodded slightly towards Molly and Sherlock replied indifferently: "Just giving it a go."

"Right." Lestrade glanced at Molly again as the woman was jotting down some notes, before turning back to Sherlock and questioning: "So, John?"

"Not really in the picture any more." Sherlock muttered back flatly.

Lestrade raised a brow and asked: "And Marie?"

He almost regretted it when he saw Sherlock freeze for just a tiny moment, his shoulders tensing. Sherlock stepped back, away from the skeleton, muttering under his breath: "Not here."

Lestrade gave him a look of mixed incredulity and pity. Sherlock just walked back to where Molly stood, and as he stopped beside the woman, there was rumbling above them and dust floated down from the ceiling. Molly also glanced up as she questioned: "Trains?"

"Trains." Sherlock confirmed.

He bent down, sitting on his heels as he peered at the skeleton once more while Molly walked over to examine the skeleton. She began to list: "Male, forty to fifty."

Sherlock walked back over and she quickly turned back, asking sheepishly: "Ooh, sorry, did you want to be ...?"

"Er, no, please. Be my guest." Sherlock replied, waving at her to continue.

' _You jealous?_ ' John questioned in his mind while Marie's amused voice said: ' _You are so jealous._ '

"Shut _up_!" Sherlock ordered through grit teeth. Molly paused while Lestrade sent Sherlock a worried glance. He briefly wondered if the detective had finally lost his marbles before correcting himself- Sherlock didn't have any marbles to begin with.

Molly went back to examining the skeleton and she suddenly murmured: "It doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't?" Lestrade asked in confusion.

Sherlock was examining the desk this time, his breath blowing away some of the dust as he examined the markings on the desk while Molly explained: "This skeleton, it, it can't be any more than..."

"Six months old." Sherlock spoke with Molly at the end. Molly glanced at him while Sherlock popped open the desk cabinet, checking inside and pulling out an old, dust covered manuscript. He blew off the dust before showing the cover to Molly.

"Wow!" Molly breathed, and Sherlock hummed before tossing the book onto the desk carelessly.

Lestrade leaned over, reading aloud: "'How I Did It' by Jack the Ripper?"

"Mm-hm." Sherlock hummed with disinterest.

"It's impossible!" Molly whispered and Sherlock retorted: "Welcome to my world."

Lestrade grinned, amused.

' _Smart arse._ ' John's voice retorted in Sherlock's head and he pictured Marie's amused smirk. He grumbled, disliking how John was intruding and the way Marie was running around his mind palace.

She hadn't been this disturbing, hadn't even left her wing, since the day he'd learnt her real name. Now, it was proving to be extremely distracting as she kept poking her nose into his different rooms, just as he was trying to think clearly.

Sherlock tried to ignore it as he said aloud to the other two: "I won't insult your intelligence by explaining it to you."

Lestrade replied airily, amused by Sherlock's obvious internal struggle: "No, please – insult away!"

' _You forgot to put your collar up._ ' John's voice commented and Marie's added, sounding forlorn: ' _And you don't have your funny hat. I like the hat._ '

Sherlock groaned, trying to wave their voices away as he began to explain: "The-the-the corpse is-is six months old."

Molly stared at him briefly, catching how he stuttered. Sherlock never stuttered. Sherlock's voice evened out as he listed off: "It's dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It's been displayed on a dummy for many years in a case facing south-east judging from the fading of the fabric. It was sold off in a fire-damage sale," he pulled out his phone to check, "a week ago."

He showed the news article to Lestrade who checked dejectedly: "So the whole thing was a fake?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied flatly as he turned and began to leave.

Lestrade sighed, looking down at the skeleton as he said despondently: "Looked so promising."

"Facile." Sherlock called back as he reached the door.

Molly asked, puzzled: "Why would someone go to all that trouble?"

Sherlock called back as he began to make his way up the stairs: "Why indeed, John?"

Molly and Lestrade grimaced, sharing looks once more.

* * *

Sherlock pressed the doorbell, and he and Molly waited patiently outside the door. A young, overweight man opened quickly and Sherlock held out the knitted hat. The man looked a little surprised but pleased as he commented: "Oh. Thanks for hanging on to it."

"No problem." Sherlock replied coolly and as the man took the hat, gestured for them to come in. The pair followed the man inside as Sherlock inquired: "So, what's this all about, Mr Shilcott?"

Sherlock glanced around quickly, taking in all the details of the room- particularly the many model trains stacked around the room. The man was clearly obsessed. The man replied: "My girlfriend's a big fan of yours."

"Girlfriend?" Sherlock scoffed.

Molly grimaced, giving Sherlock a look while Schilcott turned to look at him questioningly.

"Sorry. Do go on." Sherlock prompted.

Schilcott began, saying unnecessarily: "I like trains."

"Yes." Sherlock replied testily, resigning himself to listening to another boring narration while Molly glanced around the room nervously before smiling at Schilcott politely.

Schilcott explained: "I work on the Tube, on the District Line, and part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it's been cleared. I was just whizzing through and, er," he sat as his desk, showing them his laptop, "I found something a bit bizarre."

Schilcott turned to his laptop, pulling up the footage while Sherlock made a mocking face behind the man's back. Molly suppressed a smile, and Sherlock stepped forward to look over the other man's shoulder as Schilcott continued: "Now, this was a week ago."

Molly also walked over to peer at the screen, watching as a man stood waiting to get on the last train carriage. Schilcott explained: "The last train on the Friday night, Westminster station, and this man gets into the last car."

"'Car'?" Molly repeated questioningly and Schilcott answered in an annoyed voice: "They're cars, not carriages. It's a legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system."

Molly glanced over at Sherlock, making a face, to which Sherlock replied with a shrug.

"He said he liked trains." He pointed out and Molly just hummed sarcastically. Sherlock smirked in disdain.

Schilcott didn't notice, too busy focused on the footage and he continued as the footage played: "And the next stop, St James's Park station. And..."

Sherlock was still smirking as he turned to look back at the footage. The smirk disappeared as they all watched the doors to the tube open… but no-one stepped out. But it was more- the man who'd stepped into the car had simply vanished without a trace.

Sherlock leaned in, frowning in confusion as Schilcott said smugly: "I thought you'd like it."

Schilcott replayed the whole footage, saying: "He gets into the last car at Westminster, the _only_ passenger…" they watched again as the train pulled out of the station, the man clearly sitting in the middle of the last car, Sherlock's eyes flickered to the St. James's Park station security footage as Schilcott finished: "and the car is empty at St James's Park station."

They watched again as the train pull up, doors opening, no-one stepping out or in and the man gone.

"Explain _that_ , Mr Holmes." Schilcott said excitedly.

Sherlock was staring at the footage, his brows furrowed, while Molly asked: "Couldn't he have just jumped off?"

Schilcott shook his head, explaining: "There's a safety mechanism that prevents the doors from opening in transit. But there's something else."

He added and Sherlock turned his head to the man, his attention fully on the man as Schilcott told them: "The driver of that train hasn't been to work since. According to his flatmate, he's on holiday. Came into some money."

Sherlock leaned back thoughtfully. He turned to Molly, thinking out loud as he murmured: "Bought off?"

Molly looked at him, confused.

"Hmm?" She asked, and Sherlock just turned away.

' _Do you need to ask?_ ' Marie's voice asked in his head, clearly implying the obviousness of the answer. Sherlock ignored it desperately as he turned back to Schilcott

"So if the driver of the train was in on it, then the passenger _did_ get off." Sherlock stated, but it was more of a question.

Schilcott confirmed his suspicions as the man replied: "There's nowhere he could go. It's a straight run on the District Line between the two stations. There's no side tunnels, no maintenance tunnels – nothing on _any_ map. _Nothing_. The train never stops, and the man vanishes. Good, innit?!"

Sherlock was frowning as he stared back at the screen, catching the man's face.

"I know that face." Sherlock murmured, closing his heads as he searched his mind for the answer. He thought about the time it had taken the man to get between the stations.

He absently walked out of the apartment, mentally placing himself into the man's shoes. He went through a mental map of all the tubes and roads around the area between the lines, working out the timing and all places within the time radius, trying to figure out how the man could've disappeared.

* * *

John P.O.V.

John stood on Baker Street, right outside 221. He looked up, clearing his throat nervously as he mentally prepared himself. He'd spent the entire day working through boring appointment after boring appointment, while dismissing Mary's sly comments on him going to see Sherlock. She'd started from this morning when she saw him shaving his moustache off, and he'd been denying it since.

He sighed as he looked up at 221 Baker Street. He couldn't believe she was right- actually, no, he could. The woman was very bright and she knew him. He sighed again, feeling somewhat defeated, now that he was in fact standing outside 221, preparing to face Sherlock again as he swore he wouldn't do.

Suddenly a man walking past shoved John in the shoulder, knocking him slightly off balance and forcing him to spin around a little.

"'Scuse you." John muttered sarcastically as the man just glanced back rudely, not bothering to respond.

But that's when John felt someone grab his arm, holding him as something pierced his neck. John started, and he began to fight back immediately but his body betrayed him as whatever had been injected in him took hold of him.

He collapsed, his vision blurring as he struggled to stay awake but it was futile. His eyes fluttered closed as the man who'd knocked into him joined his attacker, both men grabbing him as his mind faded into darkness.

* * *

Molly walked out of Schilcott's apartment, stopping by the stairs where Sherlock was standing, still in thought. As Molly approached Sherlock's eyes opened and he said quickly: "The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes. That journey took ten minutes, ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James's Park."

Sherlock looked down at Molly as he said flatly: "So I'm going to need maps, lots of maps, older maps, all the maps."

He began to walk over to her as Molly said slowly: "Right."

"Fancy some chips?" Sherlock asked as he walked passed her, heading downstairs and Molly asked confusedly: "What?"

Sherlock explained: "I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions."

"Did you get him off a murder charge?" Molly asked, half-joking.

"No, I helped him put up some shelves." Sherlock replied.

He grinned a little while Molly let out a light chuckle behind him, which died quickly as the pair made it down to the first floor.

"Sherlock?" Molly called, and Sherlock turned to her at the foot of the stairs, looking up at her expectantly.

"What was today about?" Molly asked seriously as she walked the rest of the way down, pausing just a little when Sherlock replied quietly: "Saying thank you."

Molly slowly made her way down the last of the stairs, asking curiously: "For what?"

"For everything you did for me." Sherlock replied softly.

Molly replied coolly: "It's okay. It was my pleasure."

"No, I mean it." Sherlock said firmly, sincerely.

She looked up at him, startled, and she said quickly as she felt a little awkward: "I don't mean 'pleasure.' I mean, I didn't mind. I wanted to."

"Moriarty slipped up." Sherlock explained. "He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the person that mattered in the end. You made it all possible. But you can't do _this_ again, can you?"

His brow lifted, indicating the case they'd been working on.

Molly smiled, a little tearful as she said slowly: "I had a lovely day. I'd love to, I just... um... "

Sherlock interjected gently: "Oh, congratulations, by the way." He nodded at the diamond ring on Molly's finger.

Molly smiled as she told him: "He's not from work."

Sherlock grinned just a little at that and Molly continued: "We met through friends, the old-fashioned way. He's nice. We ... he's got a dog ... we-we go to the pub on weekends and he ... I've met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family. I've no idea why I'm telling you this." She rambled.

Sherlock said seriously: "I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not _all_ the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths."

He grinned and Molly replied lightly: "No, that's Marie's area, isn't it?"

Sherlock's grin became a little wistful. Molly saw it and she asked, hesitantly: "Will she be coming back soon?"

Sherlock paused before he nodded just once.

"I believe so." He murmured and Molly nodded.

"And, er, will you also…?" She gestured at her engagement ring and Sherlock stiffened.

"I doubt that will be any time soon." He said quietly and Molly said quickly: "No, sorry, it wasn't my place-"

Sherlock raised a hand to stop her. They stared at each other, and each grinned just a little. Sherlock leaned in and kissed Molly's cheek in farewell. She smiled and they walked out. Sherlock started off down the street, and Molly glanced after him for just a moment before she set off back home, in the opposite direction.

She was finally letting Sherlock go, and it felt good to have that sense of closure. As she walked, she sent a silent prayer, hoping that Sherlock would find his happiness soon.

*A/N I'm so sorry everyone! I will be on vacation for the next month or so, and I'm afraid I won't have time to post as regularly as I'm sure you're used to. I'm sorry to do this when I've just started this book, but hope you understand. I will promise to at least update a chapter each week! Thanks as always for the constant support!


	4. Guy

Sherlock had gone for his chips anyway. He didn't usually eat on a case but somehow he felt lighter now that he knew Molly was happy at last. He'd grimaced however when the shop owner questioned him on his appearance alone- the owner was very fond of Marie and wanted to know where she was. Sherlock had just replied lightly that she was out of town at the moment, but that she should be back soon.

"Well, don't let her stay gone too long. She's a keeper, that one! Next time be sure to bring her with you and I'll be sure to include extra for her, too." The owner had replied.

Sherlock stood in 221B now, eating his chips thoughtfully. He missed Marie, more than he cared to really admit, and it seemed like everything was set on reminding him of her. Even his mind was against him, the brunette running around his mind palace in an annoyingly endearing way, although it was extremely distracting.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as he heard Mary Morstan's voice at the front door, saying urgently: "Oh, Mrs Hudson. Sorry, I-I think someone's got John. John Watson?"

Sherlock turned immediately, his attention caught.

"Hang on! Who are you?" Mrs. Hudson called and Sherlock stepped out of his flat as Mary replied: "Oh, I'm his fiancée."

"Mary?" Sherlock called as he saw the woman appear around the corner of the stairs. He took in her frantic expression and asked quickly: "What's wrong?"

Mary joined him at the top of the stairs, pulling out her phone as she informed him: "Someone sent me this. At first I thought it was just a Bible thing," she explained as she scrolled through to pull up the text she'd received, "you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip-code."

Sherlock glanced at the woman sharply, examining her once again briefly. But he pushed it aside as Mary showed him the text and he read: 'Save souls now! John or James Watson? Saint or Sinner? James or John? The more is Less?'

"First word, then every third." He muttered and then read the code aloud: "Save ... John ... Watson." He paused.

"Now!" He ordered, dropping the chips and dashing down the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Mary questioned, running after him.

Sherlock replied quickly: "St James the Less. It's a church. Twenty minutes by car."

As he stepped out into the streets, he questioned urgently: "Did you drive here?"

"Er, yes." Mary confirmed but Sherlock's mind was racing and he concluded: "It's too slow. It's too slow."

He looked around quickly, pacing the street a little and Mary asked desperately: "Sherlock, what are we waiting for?"

Sherlock paused as he saw what he wanted.

"This." He replied shortly as he stepped into the middle of the road, raising a hand to stop a motorbike.

* * *

Sherlock sped down the streets, Mary hanging on tightly behind him as they headed for the church. Sherlock's mind was going at several miles an hour as he mentally calculated the quickest route to St. James the Less. Ten minutes.

Mary received another text, which she quickly showed to him. Sherlock glanced at it, but it wasn't giving him any new information. It just read: 'Getting warmer Mr Holmes. You have about ten minutes.'

Sherlock raced, knowing that he needed to get there faster than ten minutes then. Mary shouted: "What does it mean? What are they going to do to him?"

"I don't know." Sherlock replied sharply, focusing on driving and moving as quickly as possible.

Mary then received another text: '8 minutes and counting…'

Sherlock just raced on, but as he turned a corner he snapped: "Damn!"

He quickly pressed the brakes, skidding to a stop before the police blockade on the road. Sherlock quickly glanced around, looking for an alternative now that the road was blocked. He glanced to the left and saw a pedestrian road, leading down to the underground and which would take them to St. James' in eight minutes.

The tires squealed as he turned them, heading down the steps.

"Oi! Oi! You can't go down there!" The policeman shouted after him, but Sherlock ignored it, focusing on getting to John as fast as he could without injuring John's fiancée.

As they sped up out of the underground and back onto a car road, Mary showed him another text as they were getting closer. 'Better hurry, things are hotting up here…'

Sherlock swerved quickly around the other cars on the road, never breaking his speed. Mary's phone beeped again and Sherlock read: 'Stay of execution. You've got two more minutes.'

Sherlock glanced up- their current path would take three minutes. He glanced to the side to see another tunnel path through the underground, which would make the journey to St. James' one minute. He quickly swerved onto it.

They finally made it to St. James and Sherlock sped around the nearby park, scanning the crowd of people gathered for Guy Fawkes. He couldn't see anything out of place, and no sign of John. Mary's phone beeped and Sherlock read: 'What a shame Mr Holmes. John is quite a Guy!'

"What does it mean?" Mary shouted and Sherlock glanced from the message to the pyre that was just being lit.

"Oh, my God!" He cried as the flames caught and the crowd began to cheer, celebrating Guys Fawkes. Sherlock swerved them into the park as fast as he could.

"Help!" A shriek came from inside the pyre and a child began to scream in terror.

Sherlock ordered as he pulled up: "Jump off!"

He and Mary jumped off the bike, running through the crowd, shouting: "Move! Move! Move! Move! Move!"

Sherlock shoved through the last of the people, shouting: "John!"

Mary was right behind him, screaming: "John! Get up, John!"

Sherlock began to fling aside wood, ignoring the flames as he worked to get an opening to the underside of the pyre.

"John!" Mary screamed and John's voice shrieked from inside: "Help!"

Sherlock yelled: "John? John!"

He pulled aside more wood and finally spotted his friend inside. He reached in, pulling the man out just as the flames licked closer, pulling them both to safety as the crowd watched, frozen with horror.

"John!" Mary breathed, bending over the dazed man as Sherlock called desperately: "John! John?"

John groaned, as he passed out a little. But other than a bloodied head, probably from when he was captured, he was fine and both Sherlock and Mary breathed sighs of relief as they peered down at the blond man.

* * *

"...Which wasn't the way I'd put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing."

Sherlock sat in his armchair with his eyes closed, drumming his fingers irritably as he listened to the elderly woman's chatter.

"I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?' He's _always_ losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?"

"'Fraid so." The old man sitting next to his wife agreed and Sherlock lifted his hands, steepling them before his pursed mouth in irritation.

The old woman continued obliviously: "Oh, keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his-"

"Glasses." The elderly couple said at the same time.

"Blooming things. I said, 'Why don't you get a chain – wear 'em round your neck?' And he says, 'What, like-"

"'Larry Grayson'?" The pair said at the same time, again.

Sherlock finally couldn't take it anymore as he slammed his hands down on the armrests, pushing himself up and walking over as he demanded: "So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?"

He stepped onto the coffee table and onto the couch, shoving the old couple to each side of the seat as he stood between them to examine the wall with the data on the terrorist case. The old woman replied, startled: "Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower ... but they weren't letting anyone in to Parliament."

Sherlock glanced down at the woman with a confused frown and the woman shrugged as she said: "Some big debate going on."

The door to the flat clicked open and John walked in. He stopped abruptly as he took in the strange scene before him but Sherlock looked delighted.

"John!" He greeted and John apologized: "Sorry, you're busy."

Sherlock quickly denied: "Er, no-no-no, they were just leaving."

He stepped down, pulling the old woman up and she asked in confusion as she was placed on her feet: "Oh, were we?"

"Yes." Sherlock emphasized.

"No, no," John interjected quickly, "if you've got a case..."

Sherlock interrupted as he said emphatically: "No, not a case, no-no-no. Go. 'Bye."

He pushed the couple non too gently towards the door. The old woman called out, turning back to the detective as she nagged: "Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember."

"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out." Sherlock said flatly, following the couple as they walked over to the door. John moved out of the way and into the flat nervously, unsure of whether he should intrude or not.

"Well, give us a ring." The old woman continued and Sherlock snapped as he all but shoved them out the door: "Very nice, yes, good. Get _out._ "

He made to slam the door shut but the old woman shoved her foot in-between the doorframe, stopping him. He glanced down at her foot in shock before his attention was drawn back to the woman as she said softly: "I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you."

Sherlock glanced back awkwardly at John who was pacing nervously before the windows. The old woman went on: "We're just so pleased it's all over."

Sherlock tried to slam the door shut again, but the old woman's foot was still stuck there.

"Ring up more often, won't you?" The old man added, and Sherlock hummed carelessly: "Mm-hm."

The old man chided: "She worries."

The old woman looked up at the young man, her eyes pleading as she asked: "Promise?"

Sherlock glanced back at John once more before he leaned in and whispered quietly: "Promise."

The old woman beamed, reaching up to caress the detective's face and Sherlock groaned: "Oh, for God's..."

He finally slammed the door on the old couple, leaning back on the door with a deep sigh.

"Sorry about that." He muttered to John who looked over in surprise, saying quickly: "No, it's fine."

He paused awkwardly before he asked: "Clients?"

Sherlock shrugged as he replied: "Just my parents."

He walked back into the room as John asked in surprise: "Your parents?"

Sherlock nodded, explaining: "In town for a few days."

" _Your_ parents?" John repeated in disbelief, but Sherlock continued over him: "Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of _"Les Mis."_ Tried to talk _me_ into doing it."

Sherlock gave a grim smile, clearly exasperated by the mere thought of it. John, however, was more focused on another detail.

"Those were your parents?" He repeated, turning to the window to watch the elderly couple leave.

Sherlock was confused as he replied: "Yes."

John stared out the window as he said: "Well." He snorted a little, and he turned back to Sherlock as he began: "That is not what I..."

He trailed off and Sherlock raised a brow, confused.

"What?" He asked and John continued, struggling to phrase his words: "I-I mean they're just so..."

He trailed off again and Sherlock's eyes narrowed, cocking his head slightly as he tried to understand where John was going with this.

"Ordinary." John finished at last, smiling a little at the end to show he didn't mean anything insulting.

Sherlock suppressed a smile at that, choosing to reply simply: "It's a cross I have to bear."

John chuckled at that, turning back into the room, but it died down as he thought of something else. He turned back to Sherlock.

"Did they know, too?" John asked and Sherlock feigned ignorance.

"Hmm?" He asked as he avoided John's eyes and John elaborated, looking at Sherlock evenly: "That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek."

Sherlock fidgeted, avoiding meeting John's eyes as he muttered: "Maybe."

"Ah! So _that's_ why they weren't at the funeral." John cried, turning back to the room as he understood.

Sherlock finally looked up as he said in exasperation: "Sorry. Sorry _again_."

"Mm." John hummed as he walked around casually.

Sherlock paused, lowering his eyes again as he murmured sincerely: "Sorry."

John looked over at the man, before he too lowered his gaze.

"So, you've shaved it off, then?" Sherlock commented and John looked up in confusion, before he understood and he replied shortly: "Yeah. Wasn't working for me."

"Mm, I'm glad." Sherlock murmured and John quipped: "What, you didn't like it?"

Sherlock folded his hands behind his back as he replied with a smirk: "No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven."

John paused, staring at his friend as the man grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That's not a sentence you hear every day." John commented as he sat down in his armchair.

Sherlock watched him, his face becoming serious and he asked with concern: "How are you feeling?"

John replied shortly: "Yeah, not bad. Bit ... smoked."

"Right." Sherlock said, looking over at him sympathetically.

There was a pause and then John's face turned sober, too as he looked at his friend seriously: "Last night, who did that? And why did they target me?"

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted, his eyes flitting over to the wall thoughtfully.

"Is it someone trying to get to you through me?" John questioned. "Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know. I can't see the pattern." Sherlock murmured as he turned back to the wall fully, muttering as he thought aloud: "It's too nebulous. Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange."

"'Give his life'?" John repeated in shock and Sherlock explained: "According to Mycroft. What I don't understand is why Marie would then relay that cryptic message without further instruction."

"Marie?" John repeated, surprised and Sherlock nodded.

"Apparently that's where she's been the last few months." He told John. "From what we've been told, there's an underground network planning an attack on London – that's all we know."

Sherlock frowned in thought before he turned back to the wall, explaining: "These are my rats, John."

"Rats?" John questioned, leaning back in his seat as he listened intently.

Sherlock elaborated: "My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth..."

John frowned, recognizing the man in the picture Sherlock had indicated.

"I know him, don't I?" John asked and Sherlock nodded, explaining: "Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment."

"Yes." John nodded, recognizing the man, and Sherlock informed him: "He's been working for North Korea since 1996."

"What?" John asked in astonishment and Sherlock said darkly: "He's the big rat, rat number one. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed."

* * *

John watched the security footage with a frown. "Yeah, that's ... odd." John murmured as he stared at the screen.

"There's nowhere he could have got off?" John checked and Sherlock muttered: "Not according to the maps."

John hummed in thought while Sherlock muttered anxiously: "There's something – something, _something_ I'm missing, something staring me in the face."

Sherlock turned back to the wall full of data. His phone beeped with a message and Sherlock pulled it out as John murmured: "Any idea who they are, this underground network?"

Sherlock checked the message to see it was pictures from one of his homeless network, showing Moran coming out of the underground. John continued obliviously: "Intelligence must have a-a list of the most obvious ones."

"Our rat's just come out of his den." Sherlock murmured while John rambled: "You said Marie didn't send more information? Any way we can contact her, see if she's made any progress?"

Those words sparked something in Sherlock's mind and suddenly the whole thing became clear. John continued, unaware as he rambled thoughtfully: "Maybe Al-Qaeda; the IRA have been getting restless again, maybe they're gonna make an appearance…"

He was interrupted as Sherlock cried: "Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! I've been an idiot – a blind idiot!"

"What?" John asked confused but Sherlock ignored him as he paced, muttering excitedly: "Oh, that's good. That could be brilliant!"

John turned to watch his friend as he demanded: "What are you on about?"

Sherlock murmured as he continued: "Mycroft's intelligence isn't nebulous at all. It's specific, incredibly specific. That's why Marie didn't expand on it- she thought it was obvious."

" _What_ do you mean?" John interrupted, exasperated.

Sherlock turned to him as he explained triumphantly: "Not an underground network, John. It's an Underground network!"

Sherlock returned to pacing in thought while John replied slowly: "Right... What?" He asked, still not understanding.

Sherlock came back to him, clicking on the security footage, playing it again as he explained: "Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face."

He pointed at the Westminster footage. "Look, seven carriages leave Westminster."

John hummed in agreement, but Sherlock wasn't done. He explained as the footage played the St. James station: "But only _six_ carriages arrive at St James's Park."

John stared as he realized Sherlock was right.

"Ah… but that's…I mean, it's-it's impossible." John said in shock.

Sherlock murmured: "Moran didn't disappear. The entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage."

John stared at his friend, asking incredulously: "Detached it where? You said there was nothing between those stations."

"Not on the maps," Sherlock corrected, "but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth."

Sherlock pointed at the footage, saying emphatically: "That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere."

"But why, though?" John asked sceptically. "Why detach it in the first place?"

Sherlock began to mutter, thinking aloud: "It vanishes between St James's Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. You're kidnapped," he vaguely pointed at John, "and nearly burned to death at a fireworks party..."

Sherlock stopped, realizing what he'd just said. He turned sharply, asking urgently: "What's the date, John, today's date?"

"Hmm?" John asked, turning to check on the computer. He read: "November the..."

His face went slack as he realized what Sherlock was getting at.

"My God." He breathed.

Sherlock looked at his wall, staring at the picture of Moran as he murmured: "Lord Moran, he's a peer of the realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism Bill."

John glanced over as Sherlock walked over to the picture. Sherlock's lips curled as he murmured darkly: "But he won't be there. Not tonight. Not the fifth of November."

"'Remember, remember'." John murmured.

"'Gunpowder treason and plot'." Sherlock finished quietly.

* * *

Schilcott said over the webcam: "There's nothing down there, Mr Holmes, I told you. No sidings, no ghost stations."

All three men were bent over different maps of London and its underground network, searching frantically.

"There has to be." Sherlock snapped. "Check again."

Schilcott moved to another map on the screen while John muttered: "Look, this whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff. Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand..."

Sherlock interrupted: "No, it's none of those. We've accounted for those."

He began to read off the nearest streets between the two stations: "St Margaret's Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street…"

"Hang on, hang on." Schilcott interrupted and Sherlock looked up immediately as Schilcott said: "Sumatra Road. You mentioned Sumatra Road, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock focused completely on the other man as Schilcott said triumphantly: "There is something. I knew it rang a bell." Schilcott reached for another map as he explained: "There was a station down there."

"Well, why isn't it on the maps?" John asked with a frown.

"'Cause it was closed before it ever opened." Schilcott replied.

"What?" John asked in confusion and Schilcott explained as he showed them on the map: "They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface."

Sherlock straightened and he breathed: "It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster."

John asked in confusion: "So what's down there, a bomb?"

Sherlock didn't reply, striding out and John's face dropped in horror. "Oh..." He got up and followed the detective out quickly, the two heading towards the London underground.

*A/N Sorry, not much on Marie in this chapter, but it's coming! Thanks to all my readers for being so patient!


	5. Together again

As the pair walked down to the underground, John questioned in disbelief: "So it's a bomb, then? A Tube carriage is carrying a bomb."

"Must be." Sherlock muttered.

They walked down the passage and John said determinedly: "Right."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and Sherlock asked curiously: "What are you doing?"

"Calling the police." John replied firmly and Sherlock looked scandalized as he protested: "What? No!"

John turned to Sherlock as he said in exasperation: "Sherlock, this isn't a game. They need to evacuate Parliament."

"They'll get in the way." Sherlock replied scornfully. "They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient."

He stopped by a maintenance door, pulling out a jimmy.

"And illegal." John commented as he saw Sherlock wiggling the metal pole into the door.

Sherlock just replied nonchalantly: "A bit."

He opened the door and stepped through, letting John in before he slammed the door behind them. The pair pulled out their torches as they made their way down, deep into the underground tunnels. John pulled out his phone again, checking it and Sherlock asked as he glanced over his shoulder: "What are you doing?"

John sighed quietly as he saw the no signal bar on his phone, but just muttered: "Coming."

They continued down reaching the very bottom to stand on the platform of the unopened tube station, placing them right under the Palace of Westminster. But as they glanced around, Sherlock frowned to find the place empty.

"I don't understand." Sherlock muttered and John replied sarcastically: "Well, that's a first."

Sherlock ignored him as he murmured: "There's nowhere else it could be."

He thought about it, closing his eyes and going into his mind palace, thinking through what the terrorist plan would be. He imagined himself on the train car, imagined it exploding and becoming engulfed in flames, and then where the flames and explosive air would go.

His wandering mind ended with the image of the Palace of Westminster exploding and Sherlock opened his eyes as he cried triumphantly: "Oh!"

"What?" John asked and he followed as Sherlock dashed to the end of the platform. He called as Sherlock jumped off the edge: "Hang on. Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to his friend, asking impatiently: "What?"

"That's..." John trailed off, unsure.

"Isn't it live?" He asked and Sherlock shrugged as he explained flatly: "Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails."

Sherlock turned back to the tunnel, walking down the path and John muttered sarcastically: "'Course, yeah. Avoid the rails. Great."

"This way." Sherlock replied as he walked and John checked as he jumped down and followed quickly: "You sure?"

"Sure." Sherlock replied confidently.

They walked quickly down, and as they turned a curve in the tunnel they spotted the lights of the missing car.

"Ah. Look at that." John said in satisfaction but Sherlock was more interested in the open pipe above them.

"John." Sherlock said, drawing John's attention up to the pipes. More importantly, what was placed along the pip walls.

"Demolition charges." John realized. The pair turned their eyes back to the abandoned car, walking towards it carefully but determinedly.

Sherlock tugged the door open and walked in carefully, looking around as John followed. They peered around, checking the car but it appeared empty and untouched. John murmured as he shone his torch around: "It's empty. There's nothing."

Sherlock however had noticed a wire running along the edges of the metal lining of the car, leading down.

"Isn't there?" Sherlock asked and John turned around questioningly. Sherlock leaned down, carefully lifting one of the seats. John's heart stopped as Sherlock looked up.

"This is the bomb." Sherlock murmured and John took a deep, calming breath as he asked: "What?"

Sherlock ripped the seat off completely to show the explosives worked into the car. He growled: "It's not carrying explosives. The whole compartment is the bomb."

Sherlock confirmed his own words as he ripped off more seats, revealing more explosives. John examined all the seats and as Sherlock looked around some more. Sherlock walked over one panel on the floor and paused. John glanced over as the dark-haired man knelt down, lifting the loose panel to reveal the detonator.

John took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Sherlock stood back up, staring at the detonator, both of them staring at the timer attached to the contraption. His mind was working frantically as John muttered: "We need bomb disposal."

Sherlock glanced at his friend as he pointed out in a hushed voice: "There may not be time for that now."

John was unable to tear his eyes away from the detonator as he asked with forced calm: "So what do we do?"

Sherlock paused, struggling to think of something.

"I have no idea." He admitted at last and John said flatly: "Well, think of something."

Sherlock frowned slightly as he asked: "Why do you think I know what to do?"

John snapped back, struggling to stay calm under the circumstances: "Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets."

"Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you?" Sherlock retorted and John snarled: "I wasn't in bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor."

"And a soldier," Sherlock countered, pointing his flashlight at John accusingly, "as you keep reminding us all."

"Can't-can't we rip the timer off, or something?" John asked desperately and Sherlock snapped: "That would set it off."

"You see? You know things." John retorted and Sherlock sighed in a mix of exasperation and fear as he turned around, running his hands through his curls frantically.

The whole car suddenly lit up, the electricity coming to life while the timer on the bomb began to count down from three minutes. Both men looked around wildly, and then down at the timer, fear gripping them.

"Oh…" John moaned.

"Er..." Sherlock tried to think quickly, pacing a little while John backed away from the detonator as he yelled: "My God!

"Um…" Sherlock muttered and John breathed desperately: "Why didn't you call the police?"

Sherlock muttered as he paced: "Can you just..."

"Why do you never call the police?" John yelled furiously and Sherlock snapped back: "Well, it's no use now."

The timer had almost reach two minutes by this point and John shouted indignantly: "So you can't switch the bomb off. You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police."

Sherlock looked at his friend with desperate eyes as John paced about anxiously, his fists clenched tight.

"Go, John." Sherlock said abruptly. John stared at the man incredulously as Sherlock indicated the way they'd come from.

"Go now." He pleaded.

"There's no point now," John pointed out, "is there, because there's not enough time to get away; and if we don't do this ... other people will _die_!" John snapped angrily, rubbing his temples as he felt a migraine coming on top of all the other stress that was piling on his shoulders. His mind lit up with an idea.

"Mind Palace." John ordered as he turned to Sherlock who just said questioningly: "Hmm?"

"Use your Mind Palace." John snarled and Sherlock snapped back: "How will that help?"

"You've salted away every fact under the sun!" John yelled, his voice cracking as the fear battled inside him.

Sherlock shouted incredulously: "Oh, and you think I've just got 'How To Defuse A Bomb' tucked away in there somewhere?"

"Yes!" John retorted and Sherlock paused.

His eyes were desperate as he muttered: "Maybe."

Sherlock closed his eyes, going into his mind palace while John urged from beside him: " _Think._ Think. Please think. _Think!_ "

Sherlock yelled in frustration, opening his eyes with no answer. John saw the despair in Sherlock's eyes and he moaned, turning away: "Oh my God."

Sherlock had ducked down to the bomb, mumbling and breathing heavily as he tried to figure something out.

"This is it." John groaned.

"Uh, er…" Sherlock muttered, panicked while John had gone into shock as he muttered: "Oh my God."

Sherlock was muttering as he desperately tried to find some solution: "Turn that off. Oh God! Er, um, er..."

He gave up at last as the timer hit one minute and thrity seconds, lifitng his head slowly to face John.

"I'm sorry." He whispered at last, dejectedly.

John lifted his head to the heavens for a minute before he turned back to Sherlock, biting out: "What?"

"I can't ... I can't do it, John." Sherlock admitted, his voice cracking and tears welling in his eyes. "I don't know how."

He knelt and he begged: "Forgive me?"

John shook his head once as he demanded: " _What?_ "

"Please, John, forgive me," Sherlock begged, kneeling before the furious man, "for all the hurt that I caused you."

John began to chuckle as he scoffed: "No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick." He realized.

"No." Sherlock whispered and John tried to convince himself as he snarled: "Another one of your bloody tricks."

"No." Sherlock whimpered and John growled: "You're just trying to make me say something nice."

Sherlock gazed at John sadly as he murmured: "Not this time."

John hissed: "It's just to make you look good even though you behaved like..."

John broke off, unable to finish. He hissed in pain and turned away, taking deep breaths while Sherlock leaned back, also fighting terror and anguish. John finally stamped his foot down as he hissed out: "I wanted you not to be dead."

Sherlock almost scoffed at that as he muttered: "Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for."

He looked up at John with puppy-dog eyes as he said with self-loathing, his voice breaking a little: "If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there and... you'd still have a future... with Mary."

"Yeah. I know." John interrupted, unable to listen any further. Sherlock fought back tears while John tried to stay calm. John finally turned back as he almost snarled, trying not to show his pain: "Look, I find it difficult. I find it difficult, this sort of stuff."

"I know." Sherlock whispered, his eyes reddened with unshed tears.

John took a deep breath before he finally whispered: "You were the best and the wisest man ... that I have ever known."

Sherlock looked up in shock, but John wasn't done.

"Yes, of _course_ I forgive you." John bit out. And with that, John took a deep breath and prepared himself for the explosion.

* * *

 _Sherlock spoke as he stared straight into the camera: "The criminal network Moriarty headed was vast. Its roots were everywhere like a cancer, so we came up with a plan."_

 _Sherlock explained: "Mycroft fed Moriarty information about me. Moriarty in turn gave us hints, just hints, as to the extent of his web. We let him go, because it was important to let him believe he had the upper hand. And then I sat back and watched Moriarty destroy my reputation, bit by bit."_

 _"_ _Marie and I had to make him believe he'd beaten me, utterly defeated me, and then he'd show his hand. There were thirteen likely scenarios once we were up on that roof. Each of them were rigorously worked out and given a code name. It wasn't just my reputation that Moriarty needed to bury, I had to die."_

 _"_ _But the one thing I didn't anticipate was just how far Moriarty was prepared to go. I suppose that was obvious, given our first meeting at the swimming pool. His death wish. I knew I didn't have long. I contacted my brother; set the wheels in motion. And then everyone got to work."_

 _"_ _My homeless network set up the inflatable for me to fall on. The biker stood at the ready for the signal. Marie timed her entrance and readied to make the act believable- the whole plan would only work if she looked believably distraught at my death."_

 _"_ _It was also vital that John stayed just where I put him. That way, his view was blocked by the ambulance station. And Marie ensured he didn't move from the spot. I needed to hit the airbag, which I did."_

 _"_ _Speed was paramount. The airbag needed to be got out of the way just as John cleared the station. But we needed him to see a body. That's where Molly came in. Like figures on a weather clock, we went one way, John went the other."_

 _"_ _Then our well-timed cyclist put John briefly out of action, giving me time to switch places with the corpse on the pavement. The rest of the 'blood' was just window dressing. And one final touch- a squash ball under the armpit. Apply enough pressure and it momentarily cuts off the pulse."_

 _"_ _Everything was anticipated; every eventuality allowed for. It worked perfectly."_

 _Sherlock finished, satisfied while Anderson broke in sceptically: "Molly? Molly Hooper? She was in on it?"_

 _"_ _Yes. You remember the little girl who was abducted by Moriarty?" Sherlock reminded. "You assumed she reacted like that because I was her kidnapper. But I deduced, with some help from Marie, that Moriarty must have found someone who looked very like me to plant suspicion, and that that man, whoever he was, had to be got out of the way as soon as his usefulness ended. That meant there was a corpse in a morgue somewhere that looked just like me."_

 _"_ _Clever." Anderson admitted as he thought about it, and Sherlock continued: "Molly found the body, faked the records, and I provided the other coat. I've got lots of coats." He added, anticipating the question._

 _"_ _And what about the sniper aiming at John?" Anderson asked, trying to figure out all the details._

 _Sherlock replied casually: "Mycroft's men intervened before he could take the shot. He was invited to reconsider."_

 _"_ _And your homeless network?" Anderson asked and Sherlock sighed a little as he said: "As I explained, the whole street was closed off. Like a scene from a play."_

 _Anderson sat thoughtfully and Sherlock smirked as he asked: "Neat, don't you think?"_

 _"_ _Hmm." Anderson replied, scratching his chin a little._

 _The smirk dropped off Sherlock's face as he watched the scruffy man, and he asked: "What?"_

 _Anderson shrugged as he replied: "Not the way I'd have done it."_

 _"_ _Oh really?" Sherlock challenged as he crossed his arms, levelling a look at the other man._

 _Anderson caught the defensive note in Sherlock's voice and he pointed out: "No, I'm not saying it's not clever, but..."_

 _"_ _What?" Sherlock asked sharply._

 _Anderson struggled to phrase it as he said slowly: "…Bit ... disappointed."_

 _Sherlock sighed as he muttered: "Everyone's a critic."_

 _He paused and then added in a stern voice: "Anyway, that's not why I came."_

 _"_ _No?" Anderson asked in surprise and Sherlock said sharply: "No. I think you know why I'm here, Phillip. 'How I Did It' by Jack the Ripper?" He asked, his brows lifted and Anderson's face lit up as he understood_

 _His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to answer, before he lowered his head and asked a little defensively: "Didn't you think it was intriguing?"_

 _"_ _Lurid." Sherlock retorted, kicking out his legs and standing up as he continued in disgust: "A case so sensational, you hoped I'd be interested. But you overdid it, Phillip, you and your little 'fan club.'_

 _He hinted at the 'Empty Hearse', a club Anderson had founded after Sherlock's death, dedicated to finding Sherlock Holmes._

 _Anderson whimpered: "I just couldn't live with myself, knowing that I'd driven you to... "_

 _He broke off, his voice breaking and Sherlock pointed out lightly: "But you didn't. You were always right. I wasn't dead."_

 _"_ _No. No, and everything's okay now, isn't it?" Anderson said, smiling as he saw the bright side._

 _"_ _Yeah." Sherlock replied lightly. Anderson smiled but Sherlock added casually: "Of course you've wasted police time, perverted the course of justice, risked distracting me from a massive terrorist assault that could have both destroyed Parliament and caused the death of hundreds of people."_

 _Anderson panicked: "Oh, God. Oh, God, I'm sorry, Sherlock." He grabbed Sherlock, sobbing into the man's side. "I'm so sorry."_

 _Sherlock was startled and he patted the man uncomfortably on the head as Anderson sobbed into his jacket. Suddenly, Anderson paused._

 _"_ _Hang on." He said slowly, turning to his wall covered with data he'd collected in his quest to prove Sherlock was still alive. "That doesn't make sense."_

 _Sherlock sighed._

 _"_ _How could you be sure John would stand on that exact spot?"_

 _Sherlock just left quietly as Anderson continued, staring at his wall wildly._

 _"_ _I mean, what if he'd moved? Hey, how did you do it all so quickly? What if the bike hadn't hit him? And anyway, why are you telling me all this?" He scoffed. "If you'd pulled that off, I'm the last person you'd tell the truth..."_

 _Anderson finally turned around to find Sherlock gone._

 _"_ _Sherlock Holmes!" He scoffed. "Sherlock-!"_

 _He chuckled. The man began to tear at the data on his walls, driven insane at last, and he eventually fell onto the ground laughing manically._

* * *

John still stood with his eyes closed, waiting for the blast that would kill him and his best friend. He was broken out of the moment as Sherlock began to snigger. John opened his eyes slowly as Sherlock began to crack up, actually crying now as he laughed so hard he was finding it difficult to breathe.

John looked down at the detonator to see the timer flickering between 1:29 and 1:28, frozen from when Sherlock had flipped the off switch earlier.

"You..." John began, the fury beginning to course through his veins.

"Oh, your face!" Sherlock cackled, barely managing to get to his feet as he chortled.

"... _utter_ ..." John snarled.

"Your face!" Sherlock laughed and John snarled, beyond words he was so angry: "You ..."

"I totally had you." Sherlock finally managed to stop laughing.

John exploded: "You _cock_! I knew it! I knew it! You f..."

Sherlock interrupted as he said casually: "Oh, those things you said, such sweet things! I-I never knew you cared."

He tried to sound sincere but there were many holes in his act this time.

"I _will_ kill you," John threatened furiously, "if you ever breathe a word of this…"

"Scout's honour." Sherlock promised jokingly while John shouted angrily: "... to _anyone_. You KNEW!"

Sherlock sighed contently as he wiped his eyes while John continued to yell: "You knew how to turn it off!"

"There's an Off switch." Sherlock informed

John glared at him as he asked in disbelief: "What?"

"There's always an Off switch." Sherlock explained while John grumbled curses under his breath. "Terrorists can get into _all_ sorts of problems unless there's an Off switch."

"So why did you let me go through all that?" John demanded, and Sherlock said in mock defence: "I didn't lie altogether. I've absolutely no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off."

He began to chuckle again while John closed his eyes briefly in exasperation. He opened them to glare at Sherlock furiously before noticing torches approaching from the end of the tunnel.

"And you did call the police." John said flatly.

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort when a woman's voice called: "No- I called the police."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he spun around, a delighted grin appearing on his face. John had to be somewhat amused at his friend's joy as he saw the familiar brunette appear in the doorway.

"When did you arrive?" Sherlock breathed, reaching out to scoop the woman into a tender embrace.

Marie hugged him back tightly as she replied: "I arrived in London about an hour ago- just in time for your text to your brother. I'd have been here sooner, but I had to take care of something first."

"What was more important than seeing Sherlock?" John asked questioningly.

The couple released each other so that Marie could turn to John, although Sherlock kept an arm loosely around her. She answered: "Keeping Sherlock alive."

John raised his brows and Marie smiled as she said: "You think Off switches don't have overrides? I ensured Moran didn't make the override. He's safely in Mycroft's custody. Poor man." She added casually and Sherlock smirked while John looked between the pair, torn between joy and irritation.

"I'm definitely gonna kill you." John commented, but there was no bite in his words.

Sherlock scoffed: "Oh, please. Killing me- that's _so_ two years ago."

He grinned at John who snorted, joining in Sherlock's chuckles at last. Marie grinned and as John opened his arms she walked out of Sherlock's and into her friend's. Marie reached back and tugged on Sherlock, bringing him in so she could hug the two most important people in her life.

She sighed contently, and the boys joined her as their laughter subsided, all three happy to finally be back together again.


	6. Welcome Back

"Sherlock, please. I _beg_ of you." Mycroft was pleading over the phone. "You can take over at the interval."

Sherlock finished buttoning his suit jacket as he said in a feigned apologetic tone: "Oh, I'm sorry, brother dear, but you made a promise. Nothing I can do to help."

"But you don't understand the pain of it, the horror!" Mycroft said urgently.

Sherlock could though- he could hear the singing even over the phone as the musical actors sang: ' _Do you hear the people sing?_ ' And he definitely did not want to be there to hear that in person.

Sherlock hung up as John walked in, saying with a smile: "Come on. You'll have to go down. They want the story."

Sherlock walked passed, rolling his eyes a little as he murmured: "In a minute."

They walked back into the living room just as they heard Marie ask with interest: "You're a nurse?"

The two men grinned as they saw Mary look at the brunette in surprise.

"Oh, did John tell you…?" She asked and Marie smiled, shaking her head. Mary caught on and she laughed as she said: "Oh, of course. A genius couple; you two must've driven John up the wall."

"Not really- Marie's always been much nicer and more pleasant." John commented and Marie laughed while Sherlock smirked.

"Well, congratulations again." Marie said to the blonde woman warmly.

"Yes, congratulations." Sherlock added on as he walked over to give his brunette a quick kiss on the top of her head before he walked over to pour himself a glass of champagne, joining their small congratulatory party.

Mrs. Hudson beamed at the two couples as she added happily: "Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary. Have you set a date?"

"Er, well we thought May." Mary said with a smile.

Marie smiled while Mrs. Hudson said delightedly: "Oh! Spring wedding!"

Mary grinned a little wryly as she added: "Yeah. Well, once we've actually _got_ engaged." She flexed her empty hand pointedly.

"Yeah." John added amusedly.

"We were interrupted last time." Mary continued, giving Sherlock a pointed look.

Marie looked surprised while John repeated, also looking at Sherlock with raised brows: "Yeah."

Sherlock glanced sheepishly at Mary as Marie asked incredulously: "What did you do?"

"Well-" John began and Sherlock interrupted hastily: "Er, it was nothing. I'll tell you later." He added as he saw Marie's raised brows.

She nodded, letting it slide for now while Lestrade called: "Well, I can't wait."

"You will be there, Sherlock?" Mary checked, almost threatening.

"Weddings," Sherlock replied evasively, "not really my thing."

"He'll be there." Marie interjected. Mary and Mrs. Hudson beamed while Sherlock grimaced.

"Marie…" He began to whine and she just smiled, getting up to join him.

"Sherlock, play nice." She smiled, but gave him a suggestive nudge with her hip. It was John's turn to grimace and Lestrade choked a little on his champagne while Sherlock lifted a brow, appeased. They were interrupted as the door opened once more and they all turned to see who it was.

"Hello, everyone." Molly greeted.

"Hey, Molly." John greeted warmly and Marie moved to hug her friend while Sherlock turned away, taking the moment to examine the situation outside. Molly's eyes lit up as she saw the brunette woman, and she quickly reached out to give her a tight hug. Someone coughed from behind her and she quickly broke away.

"Oh, right." Molly apologized before she introduced: "This is Tom. Tom, this is everyone."

John's face changed into a confused frown while Marie's eyes widened and she tried not to show her incredible surprise and amusement as she looked Molly's boyfriend up and down.

"Hi." Tom greeted.

"Hi." Lestrade called to him, looking very amused, and John gapped as Tom greeted: "It's really nice to meet you all. Hi."

Tom raised his hand to shake the man's hand as John said: "Wow. Yeah, hi. I'm John. Good to meet you."

Marie was grinning widely and she shared a look of anticipation with John as Sherlock called from the window: "Ready?"

John's eyes were shining with mirth as he turned to Sherlock and replied: "Ready."

Sherlock had turned to smile briefly at Molly as he walked over to the door, but as soon as his eyes landed on Tom, the smile fell and his face changed. He stopped in shock, glancing over the man as Lestrade asked Molly: "Champagne?"

"Yes. Thanks." Molly replied, turning to Lestrade.

Sherlock silently just raised a hand to shake Tom's in greeting before he walked out the flat. John and Marie shared looks, trying hard not to laugh before they turned to follow Sherlock.

Molly's boyfriend had been the spitting image of Sherlock in his dress- same hair, although Tom's was clearly styled to be the curly mop Sherlock sported naturally, a scarf wrapped around his neck, same coat, same suit… even the same shoes.

"Did you, er ...?" John asked Sherlock as they approached him.

Sherlock just replied firmly as he wrapped his own scarf around his neck: "I'm not saying a word."

"No, best not." John agreed while Marie grinned widely.

Sherlock saw it and he cracked a smile, before taking a deep breath as he prepared to face the mob outside. John suddenly piped up: "I'm still waiting."

Both Marie and Sherlock turned to him in surprise, and John was suddenly hit by how similar the two looked. It was nothing in their features: she had warm green eyes while Sherlock's blue ones were more often cold, and she had a button nose while Sherlock's was a perfectly sculpted sharp line; even their lips were different, hers much fuller and softer while his was thin and often pressed into thoughtful lines.

But their expressions- intelligent with the bright gleam in their eyes- were the same. Marie was no longer hiding any pain in her eyes while Sherlock's face had softened under her influence.

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked and John broke out of his thoughts, returning to his original question.

"Why did they try and kill me?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed a little as he inhaled sharply and John continued: "If they knew you were on to them, why go after me, put me in the bonfire?"

"I don't know." Sherlock murmured disgruntled. He added sulkily as he grabbed his coat: "I don't like not knowing."

Sherlock took Marie's hand and began to walk down the stairs. John followed as Sherlock commented: "Unlike the nicely embellished fictions on your blog, John, real life is rarely so neat."

"I don't know who was behind all this," Sherlock let go of Marie's hand to pull on his coat as he promised them both, "but I will find out, I promise you."

Marie smiled softly, drinking in the sight of Sherlock back in his familiar coat.

John also snorted and he commented: "Don't pretend you're not enjoying this."

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked, not looking at John, and John clarified: "Being back. Being a hero again."

"Oh, don't be stupid." Sherlock retorted lightly but John replied flatly: "You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it."

"Love what?" Sherlock asked, turning to look John in the eye.

"Being Sherlock Holmes." John and Marie replied at the same time, John proudly and Marie fondly.

Sherlock blinked and then muttered with a frown: "I don't even know what that's supposed to mean."

Sherlock turned to leave the flat when John glanced at Marie. She saw the look, and she minutely shook her head. John turned his gaze back to Sherlock and called after the man: "Sherlock, you _are_ gonna tell me how you did it?"

Sherlock paused and John elaborated: " _How_ you jumped off that building and survived?"

Marie smiled a little as she backed away, giving them some space. This was not her place to say- Sherlock had been the one behind the whole plot. And although John definitely cared deeply for Marie, there was no question who his best friend was.

Sherlock didn't turn around, saying simply: "You know my methods, John. I am known to be indestructible."

Marie snorted a little and John said in a sombre voice: "No, but seriously. When you were dead, I went to your grave."

Marie's smile saddened but Sherlock replied lightly: "I should hope so."

John was undeterred as he continued seriously: "I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you."

Sherlock finally turned, saying with a small smile: "I know. I was there."

John's lips curved into a smile. He continued slowly: "I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead."

The two just continued to look at one another as Sherlock replied in a low voice: "I heard you."

John's grin grew into a smile, satisfied. Sherlock glanced at Marie who beamed at him, her eyes lit the way he loved to see them. Sherlock turned back to the front door as he teased: "Anyway, time to go and be Sherlock Holmes."

He started for the door before he paused. Marie's grin widened and she smiled as Sherlock reached across to the coat pegs, grabbing the hat. With a small flourish, he placed it on his head, and John and Marie shared grins as they walked up behind him.

Sherlock took Marie's hand as he opened the door, stepping out to meet the reporters confidently in his 'Sherlock Holmes hat'. He stood before 221B, answering all their questions, backed by the two people he loved most.


	7. The Sign of Three

Marie returned home one day to find the entire apartment surrounded by a full squadron of the emergency police force. It looked like maximum security had been called, between the several police cars and the helicopter. She raised a brow- he didn't.

Marie walked into 221B calmly, walking up the stairs to the flat she now shared with Sherlock. As expected she found Sherlock sitting at his desk, his laptop open before him while Lestrade stood by the doorway, silently fuming. Sherlock, at the very least, had the decency to look sheepish and somewhat contrite as he met Marie's gaze.

Marie sighed, drawing Lestrade's attention to her. He'd been so annoyed and pissed off by Sherlock, he hadn't even heard her enter.

"What did you do?" Marie asked Sherlock.

* * *

After hearing about how Sherlock had interrupted an important case for the DI- the Walters family of thieves that Marie had read about in the papers- just so he, Sherlock, could get help on his current dilemma, Marie scolded Sherlock until he thought his ear would fall off.

The brunette woman apologized profusely to Lestrade, who waved it off wearily, while Sherlock sulked in his armchair. After Lestrade left, too tired to even lecture Sherlock as he went to face the mess that had been caused, Marie glanced over at the petulant detective.

He saw her looking his way and pouted, turning his head away from her in a childish fit. She sighed.

"Sherlock…" She began and he groaned.

"Don't start again- how many times do I have to say I didn't mean to interrupt anything important?" He sulked.

She paused and sighed before walking over to him. He ignored her sullenly as she bent to kneel beside him, peering up at him. She patted his knee as she murmured softly: "Sorry, I didn't mean to scold. But I just felt so terrible for poor Greg."

Sherlock pouted but sighed defeatedly when Marie slid onto his lap, worming her way onto him as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him repentantly. He peered down at her as she looked up at him with puppy eyes and forgave her on the spot, knowing he couldn't win against her anyway.

He murmured with a sigh: "You, Miss Spencer, are going to be the death of me."

She grinned a little, leaning up to kiss him softly. He returned it, before he leaned in to deepen it. She pulled away and he frowned but she smiled as she shook her head.

"Hang on." She murmured as she fished for her phone. Sherlock pouted and his frown only deepened as Marie called: "Mycroft?"

There was a pause before Marie began to explain into her phone. Sherlock pursed his lips in annoyance, before he began to kiss Marie's neck as she called in a favor with the elder Holmes. Marie tried to wiggle away, but Sherlock held her firmly and she ultimately gave up, deciding it would be easier to just quickly end the phone call. Mycroft finally agreed to help Lestrade and Marie beamed.

"Thank you, Mycroft." She said cheerfully. Mycroft replied dryly: "Good day, Miss Spencer. I hope you won't waste it entirely in bed with my brother."

Marie blushed bright red and she just hung up in embarrassment. Sherlock saw and he smirked.

"Care to share what my brother said?" He asked innocently and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You knew he'd know." She accused and he pointed out: "He _is_ my brother."

She groaned, although it quickly melted as Sherlock moved in to kiss her again. He pulled away just slightly to breathe: "I wouldn't mind just spending the day in bed with you."

She giggled a little at that, and Sherlock just grinned as he wrapped her up in his arms, leading them into the bedroom. He slammed the door behind them, completely abandoning his laptop, which was still opened on the empty document titled: 'John's Best Man Speech'.

* * *

It was the last day of May and the morning at 221B Baker Street started to the soothing sound of a violin playing from the upstairs flat. Mrs. Hudson smiled as she heard it on her way to bringing tea upstairs.

She walked up slowly, balancing the tray carefully as she listened to the beautiful music playing from behind the closed door to the flat. She opened it to find Sherlock dancing a waltz, the recording continuing to play as he glanced over his shoulder at the landlady.

"Shut up, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock muttered and the elderly woman replied, amused: "I haven't said a word."

The man sighed as he elaborated: "You're formulating a question, and it's physically painful watching you thinking."

He stopped dancing as Mrs. Hudson admitted: "I thought it was you playing."

"It was me playing." Sherlock muttered as he shut off the music.

"I am composing." He explained as he leaned down to write something on the music sheet, and Mrs. Hudson corrected: "You were dancing."

Mrs. Hudson set the tea-tray down while Sherlock said defensively: "I was road-testing."

"You what?" Mrs. Hudson chortled.

Sherlock slammed down his pencil, turning to the woman as he demanded: "Why are you here?"

"I'm bringing you your morning tea." Mrs. Hudson said, stating the obvious as she began to pour it out for him.

"You're not usually awake." She added thoughtfully and Sherlock asked with a frown: "You bring me tea in the morning?"

He sat down in his armchair as Mrs. Hudson laughed: "I haven't in a long time now- usually Marie gets it- but I thought since she's out today, I'd get it for you like olds times."

Sherlock frowned: "You always brought me tea in the mornings?"

"Well, where d'you think it came from?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a laugh as she finished with his cup, and Sherlock muttered: "I don't know. I just thought it sort of happened."

"Your mother has a lot to answer for." Mrs. Hudson muttered as she handed Sherlock his tea and he replied flatly: "Mm, I know. I have a list."

He lifted the cup to his mouth as he muttered darkly: "Mycroft has a _file._ "

He took a sip from his cup as Mrs. Hudson sat opposite him excitedly.

"So," the elderly woman began jubilantly, "it's the big day, then!"

"What big day?" Sherlock asked derisively.

Mrs. Hudson exclaimed aghast: "The wedding! John and Mary getting married! That's why Marie's out so early- she went to help Mary get ready. Must be why you're in such a fine mood." Mrs. Hudson added sarcastically.

Sherlock ignored the last bit as he said flatly: "Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday and then carry on living together. What's big about that?"

"It changes people, marriage." Mrs. Hudson said firmly.

Sherlock pretended to think about as he said: "Mmm, no it doesn't."

"Well," Mrs. Hudson shrugged as she commented, "you'll see when you get there."

Sherlock looked at her impassively as he said coolly: "No, I won't."

Mrs. Hudson looked aghast as she asked: "You're not going to ask Marie? Ever?"

When Sherlock remained unmoved Mrs. Hudson muttered under her breath: "The poor, sweet girl."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he said flatly: "Your husband was executed for double murder. You're hardly an advert for marriage."

Mrs. Hudson glared at him as she said sternly: "Marriage changes you as a person, in ways that you can't imagine."

"As does lethal injection." Sherlock commented, giving the landlady a large, fake smile.

Mrs. Hudson just went on: "My best friend, Margaret, she was my chief bridesmaid." Sherlock rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear this. "We were going to be best friends forever, we always said that; but I hardly saw her after that."

"Aren't there usually biscuits?" Sherlock asked abruptly but Mrs. Hudson just replied coolly: "I've run out."

"Have the shops?" Sherlock snapped as he walked over to the door, hinting for the landlady to leave but Mrs. Hudson just continued her story.

"She cried the whole day, saying, 'Ooh, it's the end of an era'."

Sherlock groaned before he hinted loudly: "I'm sure the shop on the corner is open."

Mrs. Hudson ignored him as she mused: "She was probably right, really. I remember she left early. I mean, who leaves a wedding early? So sad."

"Mmm. Anyway, you've got things to do." Sherlock said pointedly.

Mrs. Hudson looked over as she replied: "No, not really. I've got plenty of time to-"

"Biscuits!" Sherlock ordered sharply and Mrs. Hudson gasped in surprise at his outburst before getting up indignantly.

"I really am going to have a word with your mother." She muttered crossly and Sherlock retorted: "You can if you like. She understands very little."

"Well, then, I'll have a word with Marie." Mrs. Hudson countered

Sherlock had no reply for that so he simply shut the door after the landlady defiantly. He turned back to the flat with a sigh, hands clenching a little. He glanced at John's armchair before he walked slowly back to his empty room.

"Right, then." He murmured as he pulled off his dressing gown. He stood before the wardrobe, staring at the suit that hung neatly pressed and ready, courtesy of Marie. He took a deep breath.

"Into battle." He murmured as he picked up the suit.

* * *

Marie was positively beaming as she watched John and Mary come out of the chapel, man and wife. It was a beautiful Spring day; absolutely gorgeous weather. She had no doubt the wedding photos would come out lovely with the sun shining brightly behind the happy couple.

Sherlock was looking exceedingly uncomfortable and she had tried to soothe him when she could. But between his duties as best man (and consequently spending quite some time with the bridesmaid) and her duties in helping Mary with the preparations for the reception there wasn't a lot of time she could spend with Sherlock.

She was, however, highly amused whenever she saw Sherlock interacting with Mary's bridesmaid, Janine Hawkins. He looked torn between disdain and discomfort as the woman flirted with him. Marie wondered if she should feel jealous, but Sherlock's expressions were too amusing for her to feel concerned.

* * *

Marie found the guests' entries into the reception highly entertaining as well. She was standing a little behind the married couple, on the furthest side from Sherlock who stood behind John. Janine stood behind Mary while a lovely woman called Abigail stood with Marie as the other bridesmaids beside Janine.

Marie watched amusedly as Mary's friend David approached. He was an old friend, apparently, and had acted as usher for the wedding. Mary was delighted to see him, saying happily: "David!"

She leaned in to hug him but David backed away, avoiding the hug a little as he said with a strained smile: "Mary. Congratulations. You look, um, very nice."

"Thanks…" Mary replied confusedly.

Marie suppressed a smile as David moved to clap John's hands, saying: "John, congratulations. You're a lucky man."

"Thank you." John replied lightly.

Mary introduced: "Um, er, David, this is Sherlock."

Sherlock grinned at the man creepily. David glanced nervously at Sherlock as he replied: "Um, yeah. We've, um, we've met." He said a little evasively.

Marie giggled a little, remembering what she'd heard one day when she'd woken up and tottered towards the living room.

 _She'd paused as she heard an unfamiliar man's voice asking confusedly: "Sorry, what?"_

 _Sherlock's voice replied flatly: "Oh, I think you know what. You went out with her for two years."_

 _"_ _A-ages ago. We're j... we're just good friends now." David had replied firmly, but Sherlock had asked, disbelievingly: "Is that a fact?"_

 _Marie lifted a brow as Sherlock listed off rapidly: "Whenever she tweets, you respond within five minutes regardless of time or current location, suggesting you have her on text alert. In all your Facebook photographs of the happy couple, Mary takes centre frame whereas John is always partly or entirely excluded."_

 _David had scoffed as he tried to tease: "You can't assume from that I've still got some kind of interest in Mary?"_

 _"_ _You volunteered to be a shoulder to cry on, on no less than three separate occasions." Sherlock replied flatly. "Do you have anything to say in your defence?"_

 _There was a brief silence where Marie guessed the other man had gone into shock. Sherlock had finished coolly: "I think from now on we'll downgrade you to 'casual acquaintance.' No more than three planned social encounters a year, and always in John's presence. I have your contact details. I will be monitoring."_

 _Marie had almost laughed at that, but suppressed it so as not to ruin Sherlock's moment. David had said in a shaky voice: "They're right about you. You're a bloody psychopath."_

 _"_ _High-functioning sociopath." Sherlock had corrected._

 _"_ _With your number." He'd added. After a pause, David had stumbled out, terrified._

Back in the present, it seemed David still remembered the encounter as he coughed uneasily and entered the reception hall quickly, avoiding Sherlock's eyes. John glanced at Sherlock questioningly but he turned back to his guests as more people walked up to congratulate the newlyweds.

A few moments later, Marie witnessed yet another amusing encounter. Mary and John had just greeted a woman in a black and white polka dress, her young son shifting from foot to foot beside her impatiently. Mary and John had turned to the boy, but he ignored them, rushing to hug Sherlock.

Sherlock grunted as the boy collided with him and the boy almost squeezed the life out of him as he hugged Sherlock's middle tightly. Sherlock said uncomfortably: "Mm, yes, um, well done in the service, Archie."

The boy's mother said in wonder: "He's really come out of his shell. I don't know how you did it."

Sherlock chuckled nervously as he hesitated: "Um..."

Marie hid her laugh, also remembering _that_ day.

 _Marie had just returned from work to find Sherlock sitting in a stand-off with the boy, Archie. The boy had been refusing Sherlock defiantly, set against smiling for the bride and groom, holding the rings, and wearing the tux. She'd walked in just as Sherlock was saying: "You really do have to wear the outfit."_

 _"_ _What for?" The boy asked, glancing at Marie as she entered._

 _Sherlock shrugged as he replied: "Grown-ups like that sort of thing."_

 _"_ _Why?" Archie asked and Sherlock paused._

 _"_ _I don't know. I'll ask one." He turned to Marie. "Why do grown-ups like that sort of thing?"_

 _Archie also turned to her expectantly and Marie blinked suddenly feeling like she was watching two children instead of one. Marie shrugged._

 _"_ _Because it looks nice." She replied and Archie wrinkled his nose while Sherlock gave her a look of disbelief. She shrugged and then gestured back at the boy, who had turned questioning eyes on the detective._

 _"_ _You're a detective?" Archie asked curiously and Sherlock just replied flatly: "Yep."_

 _"_ _Have you solved any murders?" Archie asked and Marie's brows lifted._

 _"_ _Sure. Loads." Sherlock replied shortly._

 _"_ _Can I see?" Archie asked, sounding interested for the first time._

 _Sherlock looked down at the boy, before replying easily: "Yeah, all right."_

 _Marie had watched in silent disbelief as Sherlock showed the boy some horrifying images from some of the data from past cases on the computer_

 _"_ _What's all the stuff in his eye?" Archie asked curiously and Sherlock replied bluntly: "Maggots."_

 _"_ _Cool!" Archie said in awe._

 _Marie had stared while Sherlock glanced at the little boy, murmuring thoughtfully and appreciatively: "Mm!"_

In the present, the mother was still saying to Sherlock: "He said you had some pictures for him, as a treat."

Sherlock thankfully knew better than to be honest, which was a large improvement for the self-proclaimed sociopath, as he said evasively: "Er, yes... if he's good."

He added, patting Archie's head awkwardly. Marie choked a little as Archie replied cheerfully: "Beheadings."

Thankfully no-one had heard the boy clearly as he was still somewhat muffled against Sherlock's side. Sherlock saved the situation as he said hastily, pushing the little boy away and inside: "Lovely little village."

"Hmm?" The mother asked as she took her son. "What did you say?"

Sherlock glanced over at Marie who was fighting back her smiles, especially at John's confused expression. His eyes softened as hers twinkled, and the two looked away quickly before they both lost face and burst out laughing.

* * *

Inside the reception hall at last, Marie was chatting with Greg while Sherlock was standing beside Janine as they stayed behind John and Mary. Marie was, however, distracted when she saw Mary scarfing down the food. She'd been ill this morning, although she'd waved it off as wedding jitters. And indeed, at the moment, she looked fine as she ate her way through the nibbles happily.

She caught John suddenly straighten up, staring towards the doors and looked over to see a well-dressed military man enter. John walked over to greet the man in a salute. Marie wandered over to where Mary stood, joining Sherlock as the latter asked: "So that's him. Major Sholto."

Marie suppressed a smile as she heard the slight jealousy in Sherlock's tone. Mary had caught it too, and she shared a small smile with Marie as she replied amusedly: "Uh-huh."

Sherlock didn't notice the two women laughing silently at his expense as he asked: "If they're such good friends, why does he barely even mention him?"

"He mentions him all the time to me. He never shuts up about him." Mary commented, lifting her wine glass.

Sherlock paused while Marie smiled- she could hear Mary's teasing tone and knew the older woman was purposefully making Sherlock jealous. Sherlock however, didn't notice it and he asked incredulously: "About _him_?"

"Mm-hmm." Mary hummed, amused as she took a sip of her wine. She made a face as she muttered: "Urgh. I chose this wine. It's bloody awful."

Marie glanced at her again while Sherlock demanded: "Yes, but it's definitely _him_ that he talks about?"

"Mm-hmm." Mary repeated lightly, glancing amusedly at Sherlock and sending another disgusted look at the wine glass. She also slyly shot a wink at Marie and the younger girl giggled.

She patted Sherlock's arm reassuringly as the man retorted sulkily: "I've never even heard him say his name."

Mary explained: "Well, he's almost a recluse – you know, since-"

"Yes." Sherlock replied shortly. The three turned to stare at the man, Sherlock still impassive while the women's eyes were pitying.

Mary continued quietly: "I didn't think he'd show up at all. John says he's the most unsociable man he's ever met."

"He is? _He's_ the most unsociable?" Sherlock asked incredulously and Mary just hummed: "Mm."

Sherlock muttered petulantly: "Ah, _that's_ why he's bouncing round him like a puppy."

Marie laughed outright then and Sherlock looked at her accusingly. Mary was also smiling in amusement and she hugged the man's arm as she cooed: "Oh, Sherlock! Neither of us were the first, you know."

Sherlock paused a little before he muttered: "Stop smiling."

"It's my wedding day." Mary replied. Sherlock grimaced, turning away and pulling his arm away from Mary as he left. Marie shared a smile with Mary before going off to follow her sulking boyfriend as he walked off towards the back corner of the room.

"Someone's jealous." She teased and Sherlock growled at her. She laughed and patted his head fondly as she soothed: "Aw, come on, Sherlock. You're my first- can't you be satisfied with that?"

His face immediately softened like she'd hoped it would. He pretended to think about it before he leaned in, murmuring: "I don't know. I think I need convincing."

She looked at him with raised brows.

"Me having sex with you every night isn't enough proof?" She teased and Sherlock grinned.

"Nope- that's my proof that you, too, are my first." He replied, and before she could protest, he lowered his mouth and captured her lips with his. She melted into his kiss, letting herself slip momentarily into the world she shared solely with the man she loved.


	8. Speech

The master of ceremonies tinkled his glass, calling: "Pray silence for the best man."

Sherlock stood nervously from his seat at the front of the room, fixing his tuxedo as everyone clapped, some cheering. Marie sent him an encouraging smile from where she was sitting between Greg and Mrs. Hudson and he glanced at her gratefully before he drew himself tall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends ... and ... erm ... others. Er ... w... A-a-also ..."

Marie tried not to show her concern on her face as Sherlock faltered, looking slightly overwhelmed and alarmed as he faced the entire room of people. She knew this was hard for him; despite how he appeared before the press, it was much easier for him when he was explaining the solution to a triple-murder case than it was for him to try and be sincere in front of a large crowd of people- people, he knew, John and Mary cared about to some degree.

To stand in the spotlight as he was now, in front of all those people as he stood by his seat beside the bride and groom, was surely torture for the poor man. She could feel the same concern radiating from Mrs. Hudson and Greg, and Molly, sitting beside Greg. Molly had spoken to Marie about the matter before…

 _"_ _Rose-Marie." Molly had said abruptly one day at the Bart's cafeteria. Marie had looked at the woman curiously._

 _"_ _Yes?" She'd prompted and Molly continued worriedly: "What if John asks Sherlock to be his best man?"_

 _Marie replied confusedly: "He probably will, won't he?"_

 _"_ _Exactly." Molly had said emphatically._

 _"_ _So?" Marie had asked before understanding dawned._

 _"_ _Oh…" She said slowly and Molly nodded._

 _"_ _Finally someone who gets it." She sighed and Marie frowned._

 _"_ _What do you mean, 'finally'?" Marie asked and Molly answered: "I spoke with Greg and Mrs. Hudson- neither of them seemed to quite grasp the severity of the situation. Greg just wondered what was the worst that could happen, while Mrs. Hudson just laughed."_

 _Marie grimaced and sighed: "Of course they did."_

 _Marie and Molly had shared understanding looks and Marie had said slowly: "I'll try to prepare him…_

 _"_ _I'm not sure it'll help." Molly grimaced. "The telegrams…"_

In the present, John sighed: "The telegrams _._ "

John grimaced, recalling Mrs. Hudson's hysterical laughter that day he'd come to visit 221B. Sherlock mistook his words as a hint because it made him remember that was what he needed to do first.

"Right, um..." Sherlock muttered, fidgeting as he searched for the pile before picking the pile up from on the table before him. He said aloud: "First things first. Telegrams. Well, they're not actually telegrams. We just call them telegrams. I don't know why. Wedding tradition."

Sherlock rambled slightly. He then sighed as he added bitterly: "Because we don't have enough of that already, apparently."

John tried not grimace while Marie winced. Thankfully Sherlock finally began to read the various telegrams: "To Mr and Mrs Watson. So sorry I'm unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford."

"Aw." Mary sighed while John said appreciatively: "Ah, Mike."

Sherlock twitched a little but moved on quickly as he read the next telegram: "To John and Mary. All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big..."

Sherlock paused, looking vaguely disgusted. Marie winced again as Sherlock continued in a revolted voice: "Big squishy cuddles, from Stella and Ted."

Lestrade snorted in amusement. Sherlock tossed the telegram aside, lifting his eyes to Marie's. She tried to give him a supportive smile but it was more a grimace; she hated mushy almost as much as he did. Sherlock moved on to the next card.

"Mary, lots of love…" He trailed off again, sighing in revulsion.

"Yeah?" John prompted and Marie wrinkled her nose in shared repulsion as Sherlock said slowly: "Poppet..."

He sounded like he was trying very hard not to throw the card away, and both Mary and John chuckled while Sherlock forged ahead: "Oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from CAM. Wish your family could have seen this."

Marie frowned a little as she saw a strange look pass over Mary's face. John noticed too, and he murmured in concern: "Hey. Hmm?"

Mary just smiled tightly, nodding to show she was alright. Their attention was drawn back to Sherlock as he continued: "Um… "Special day"."

He tossed the card; apparently, he'd reached the end of his patience as he just tossed through each card, muttering: ""Very special day." "Love." "Love." "Love." "Love." "Love." Bit of a theme, you get the general gist. People are basically fond _._ "

Sherlock tossed the telegrams aside, sounding fed up. There were some laughs, as some people thought he was trying to be purposefully funny. Marie just sent Sherlock an encouraging smile, trying to help him get through what he probably considered hell. He nodded slightly at her.

"John Watson." Sherlock began. "My friend, John Watson. John."

Sherlock seemed to be fighting with himself, probably struggling to be honest and for once, completely sincere. Sherlock explained: "When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused."

Both men remembered the day very clearly.

 _John bounded up the stairs to 221B._

 _"_ _Sherlock?" He called and Sherlock asked: "What was that noise downstairs?"_

 _John replied as he walked into the kitchen: "Er, it was Mrs Hudson laughing. Something about telegrams…"_

 _He walked into the kitchen to find Sherlock in the middle of an experiment._

 _"_ _Sounded like she was torturing an owl." Sherlock said dismissively._

 _John shrugged as he replied lightly: "Yeah. Well, it was laughter."_

 _"_ _Could have been both." Sherlock joked, and John glanced around as Sherlock went back to burning the optical nerve of an eyeball._

 _"_ _Er, busy?" John asked and Sherlock stopped._

 _He sighed as he replied: "Just occupying myself. Sometimes, it's so-o-o hard not smoking."_

 _He leaned his head back to emphasize his point, accidentally dropping the eye into a mug of tea._

 _"_ _Oh." He murmured carelessly._

 _That answered John's question if Marie was home- there was no way Sherlock was this bored or craving a cigarette when Marie was around. John hummed, preparing himself as he asked: "Mm-hmm. Mind if I interrupt?"_

 _"_ _Er, be my guest." Sherlock shrugged, gesturing at a seat at the table. As John moved to sit down, Sherlock asked, lifting the mug he'd dropped the eyeball in: "Tea?"_

 _"_ _Er…" John replied, trying not to show his revulsion as he declined politely._

 _Sherlock placed down the mug and John began as he settled into his seat: "So. The big question."_

 _"_ _Mm-hm." Sherlock replied, removing his protective goggles and turning to face John expectantly._

 _John clasped his hands together, becoming serious as he said: "The best man."_

 _Sherlock just looked down at him as he asked patiently: "The best man?"_

 _"_ _What do you think?" John asked and Sherlock replied without hesitation: "Billy Kincaid."_

 _John paused, frowning as he asked: "Sorry, what?"_

 _"_ _Billy Kincaid, the Camden Garrotter." Sherlock explained. "Best man I ever knew. Vast contributions to charity, never disclosed. Personally managed to save three hospitals from closure," John's frown deepened as he tried to follow Sherlock's thought process, "and ran the best and safest children's homes in north England."_

 _John finally understood Sherlock's misinterpretation and rubbed his hand over his face in exasperation, while Sherlock mistook John's actions and said defensively: "Yes, every now and again there'd be some garrotings, but stacking up the lives saved against the garrotings, on balance I'd say-"_

 _"_ _For my wedding." John interrupted at last. "For me. I need a best man."_

 _Sherlock looked surprised as he mumbled: "Oh, right."_

 _"_ _Maybe not a garrotter." John added._

 _"_ _Gavin?" Sherlock asked questioningly and John frowned._

 _"_ _Who?" He asked bewildered and Sherlock explained: "Gavin Lestrade? He's a man, and good at it."_

 _He finished a little lamely but he'd been trying to be nice._

 _John said flatly, trying to stay neutral as he corrected: "It's Greg. And he's not my best friend."_

 _John looked at Sherlock and Sherlock murmured in understanding: "Oh... Mike Stamford, I see. Well, he's nice, um…" Sherlock continued to try be nice while John closed his eyes in annoyance, "though I'm not sure how well he'd cope with all-"_

 _"_ _No, Mike's great," John interrupted in exasperation, "but_ he's _not my best friend."_

 _Sherlock paused, cocking his head as he tried to see where John was going with this. John decided to spell it out: "Look, Sherlock, this is the biggest and most important day of my life."_

 _"_ _Well..." Sherlock interjected but John said firmly and sternly: "No, it is! It is, and I want to be up there with two of the three people that I love and care about most in the world."_

 _"_ _Yes." Sherlock replied easily, mind still racing as he tried to understand._

 _John said patiently as he saw Sherlock's confusion: "Mary Morstan…"_

 _"_ _Marie?" Sherlock asked, his eyes lighting up as he thought he got it._

 _John sighed._

 _"_ _Marie is my best friend, too, Sherlock, but she's not a man." He pointed out._

 _Sherlock frowned as he realized and he agreed: "Yes."_

 _John waited but Sherlock still seemed puzzled so John decided to be blunt: "And ... you."_

 _Sherlock blinked._

Sherlock explained to the audience: "I confess at first I didn't realise he was asking me. When finally I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and surprised."

Marie noted, with some amusement, that John looked a little confused at that statement.

Sherlock went on: "I explained to him that I'd never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it."

John's face scrunched with confusion and Marie wondered why he looked so surprised.

Sherlock continued: "I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was, for me, as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he'd placed in me," John cocked his head in confusion, "and indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being moved by it."

Marie suddenly remembered the scene she'd walked into when she'd come home that day. Sherlock had been staring at John, completely frozen in shock while John had turned to Marie, saying flatly: "He's been like this for over ten minutes. It's getting a bit scary now."

Sherlock now finished: "It later transpired that I had said none of this out loud."

They all chuckled at that and Marie smiled fondly. But it seemed Sherlock had blanked again as he reached inside his suit for the cue cards she'd forced him to prepare beforehand, just in case. Marie sighed- he should've used them from the beginning so that he would know where to look now.

Sure enough he was flipping through the cards, muttering: "Done that.. Done that... Done that bit... Done that bit... Done that bit... Hmm..."

He finally found his place again and looked up. What he said next made them all blink.

"I'm afraid, John, I can't congratulate you." Sherlock admitted.

They all stared at him in shock as Sherlock continued flatly: "All emotions, and in particular love, stood opposed to the pure, cold reason I held above all things. It is only recently that I have begun to see from a different perspective."

John grinned a little, his eyes sliding over to Marie. But the grin fell as Sherlock went on impassively: "Nevertheless, a wedding is still, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world."

Marie winced while Molly and Mrs. Hudson's faces fell. Lestrade rubbed his forehead as Sherlock went on: "Today we honour the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time, one feels certain, our entire species."

When he stopped for breath, almost everyone in the audience was shifting uneasily, uncomfortable. Sherlock paused, as though realizing in hindsight that he might've said something wrong.

He muttered hastily: "But anyway, let's talk about John."

"Please." John muttered, just as nervous. Mary smiled gently at the slightly distressed look on Marie's face as the brunette shot the older blonde an apologetic look.

Sherlock continued his speech: "If I burden myself with a little help-mate during my adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice, it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me."

John looked pleasantly surprised at this turn of events.

Lestrade grinned fondly as Sherlock continued: "Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides."

John's face scrunched, Mary sighed.

Sherlock went on: "It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favour an exceptionally plain bridesmaid for their big day."

Janine looked at Sherlock, hurt, while Marie dropped her head into her hands with a sigh.

Sherlock continued, blissfully unaware: "There is a certain analogy there, I feel. And contrast is, after all, God's own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation. Or it would be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot."

The pastor amongst the guests frowned, affronted. Sherlock paused as he saw the disgruntled crowd and Marie's tiny shaking of her head in warning.

"The point I'm trying to make," Sherlock said slowly, "is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet."

Marie lifted her eyes at Sherlock in surprise but he was nowhere near finished.

"I am dismissive of the virtuous," he glanced at the pastor who's face had turned pitying, "unaware of the beautiful," he glanced briefly at Janine who looked appeased, "and uncomprehending in the face of the happy."

He nodded once at the couple beside him, where John and Mary's faces had changed to sad understanding.

"It is only recently that I learnt what it meant to be happy. That was an accomplishment for someone like me. So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend."

Marie's face fell, and she gazed at Sherlock with sad eyes. Molly and Greg shared looks, moved by Sherlock's words.

Sherlock continued: "Certainly not the best friend of one of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing."

John looked down, embarrassed while Mary beamed at her husband.

"John, I am a ridiculous man." John snorted in agreement. "Redeemed by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I'm apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion."

He paused and his eyes met Marie's. Something passed through him at that moment and Sherlock said slowly, as surprised as anyone else: "Actually, now I can _._ "

Everyone was surprised, Marie included, but Sherlock had taken the moment in stride as he said firmly: "Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable."

Mary smiled while Marie's eyes filled with happy tears.

"John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss… So sorry again about that last one." Sherlock added in an undertone and both John and Marie snorted.

Sherlock went on sincerely: "So know this: today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved. In short, the two people who love you most in all this world."

"And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will _never_ let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."

The crowd had been moved to tears and everyone was sniffling. Marie gently passed a handkerchief to Mrs. Hudson as the old woman sobbed. She blinked back her own tears, proud beyond belief of Sherlock.

"If I try and hug him, stop me." John whispered to Mary, who whispered back firmly: "Certainly not."

Sherlock didn't notice any of this; he'd lost his place given his impromptu speech and was flipping through his cue cards to find his place again.

"Ah, yes." He said, finding himself again. "Now on to some funny stories about John..."

He looked up to see the whole crowd in tears and he was alarmed. He asked uncertainly: "What's wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John? Marie?"

His friends had to smile at that- only Sherlock would unknowingly move them all and then not know what he'd done.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson whimpered happily.

Sherlock turned to John as he asked anxiously: "Did I do it wrong? Why won't Marie say anything?"

John finally caved and he muttered as he stood up: "No, you didn't. Come here."

He hugged his best friend and the crowd all sighed happily, clapping for the friendship between the two men.

"I haven't finished yet." Sherlock muttered and John laughed.

"Yeah, I know, I know." John sighed and as he let go, Sherlock began, reading his cue cards again: "So, on to some funny stories..."

"Can you," John interrupted, "can you wait 'til I sit down?"

Sherlock quickly lowered the cue cards, waiting sheepishly. John had to chuckle at his friend, glancing over at Marie. Her face was soft, full of love and warmth for the dark-haired man beside him. Sherlock saw John's face break into a soft smile and he glanced over to look at what John had seen as the latter sat back down.

Sherlock saw Marie's loving gaze and he felt a jolt go through him again, much as it had before. ' _So this is what it means to be in love and happy_.' He mused in his head. He quickly filed the thought away for later as the applause died down and he refocused on the heavy task of getting through a 'Best Man Speech.'

"So, on to some funny stories about John."

He glanced around at the tearful crowd, and he asked, unaware that he'd caused it: "If you could all just cheer up a bit, that would..." the crowd chuckled at that, "be better. On we go. So, for funny stories one has to look no further than John's blog."

Sherlock lifted his phone, having pulled up said blog. John chuckled as he murmured: "Here we go."

"The record of our time together." Sherlock commented, adding: "Of course, he does tend to romanticise things a bit, but then, you know ... he's a romantic."

Sherlock said the last word a little slowly, and on a different day he might have said it as one would say an insult. But today, he just said the word as though it was fact, hesitating a little over the awkwardness of not saying it in a condescending way. John, Mary and Marie knew this, and they all smiled a little as they listened to Sherlock continue.

"We've tackled some strange cases: the Hollow Client..."

 _John remembered when he and Sherlock had walked into their flat only to be faced with an empty suit sitting expectantly before them, as though waiting for them._

"... The Poison Giant…"

 _Marie remembered that case- the tiny man with the poisonous darts that he blew at his enemies. The three had chased the man all over a factory roof, the three of them having to duck and hide often as they avoided the darts while the midget man ran about with ease since his head barely cleared the tops of the hip-high walls around the rooftop gardens._

"We've had some frustrating cases..."

 _"_ _What is that?" John asked as he watched Sherlock examine a matchbox intently. Sherlock replied as he informed him and Marie: "A French decathlete found completely out of his mind, surrounded by one thousand, eight hundred and twelve matchboxes, all empty except this one."_

 _Sherlock continued to stare at the matchbox while John and Marie exchanged curious glances. "And what's in that one?" John asked as Marie walked over to look at the box herself. "The inexplicable." Sherlock replied, opening the box. Marie's eyes widened while Sherlock grinned gleefully._

"... 'Touching' cases ..." Sherlock said sarcastically.

 _"_ _She's going to ring the doorbell." John kept up his commentary as he stared out the window at a young woman who seemed unable to make up her mind on whether to come in or no. Sure enough John corrected: "Oh, no. She's changed her mind. No, she's gonna do it ... No, she's leaving. She's leaving. ... Oh, she's coming back."_

 _Sherlock didn't even open his eyes, didn't even move from his place on the couch where he was leaning back with his head in Marie's lap as she read a book. "She's a client. She's boring. I've seen those symptoms before." Sherlock mumbled lazily._

 _"_ _Hmm?" John asked and Sherlock explained: "Oscillation on the pavement always means there's a love affair."_

"... And of course I have to mention The Elephant in the Room."

 _The three stood in the doorway, staring blankly ahead into the room. None of them moved, unable to. Sherlock parted his mouth before closing it firmly once more, just staring silently as the elephant trumpeted loudly._

"But we want something... very particular for this special day, don't we?"

Sherlock paused for effect before saying dramatically: "'The Bloody Guardsman'."


	9. The Bloody Guardsman

_Three weeks before the wedding:_

Marie P.O.V.

Sherlock stood before his flat wall, examining all the details for the wedding planning he'd helped the couple put together. Marie was sitting with Mary at the desk, working on the reception planning, while John sat in his armchair reading the recent emails from Sherlock's clients on his phone.

"Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin." Sherlock commented as he looked over the guest list and seating plan.

Mary and Marie looked up as Sherlock turned around to face the two women, and Mary replied: "Oh, orphan's lot. Friends – that's all I have. Lots of friends."

She exchanged smiles with Marie before they both turned back to the plans. Marie paused as Sherlock murmured restlessly: "You should schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11.48…"

"But the rehearsal's not for another two weeks." Mary pointed out. "Just calm down."

"Calm? I am calm. I'm extremely calm." Sherlock replied, speaking very quickly.

Marie looked at Sherlock with her lips pursing just slightly while Mary suggested: "Let's get back to the reception, come on."

She jerked her head to the floor plan on the table and Sherlock walked over.

"John's cousin, top table?" Mary began, looking over the guest list and the floor plan.

Sherlock stopped behind Marie, leaning over her a little to look at the RVSP letter. He replied flatly: "Hmm., hates you. Can't even bear to think about you."

Both women paused.

"Seriously?" Mary asked while Marie glanced behind her shoulder at Sherlock.

He continued, explaining as he held up the RSVP and congratulatory card: "Second class post, cheap card ... bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp: three attempts at licking. She's obviously unconsciously retaining saliva."

"Ah, let's stick her by the bogs." Mary said lightly, wrinkling her nose a little.

Marie suppressed a smile while Sherlock replied just as casually: "Oh yes."

He settled himself beside Marie, who leaned against his shoulder almost unconsciously. Mary cleared her throat, glancing back at John before leaning towards them as she asked Sherlock quietly: "Who else hates me?"

Sherlock didn't even look up from where he was looking at a pile of napkins as he handed Mary a prepared list. Marie smiled, torn between amusement and second-hand hurt as she saw the long list.

"Oh great. Thanks." Mary commented as she looked over the list.

At least she didn't sound hurt- if anything, she sounded almost as amused as Marie was feeling. She glanced at Marie, and the two women shared small grins.

"'Priceless painting nicked'." John suddenly piped up from his seat. "Looks interesting."

He glanced over but Mary was asking: "Table four..."

"Done." Sherlock replied immediately. Marie leaned her head on his shoulder, trying to soothe him as she sensed his rather frazzled nerves. You'd think he was the bride, he was so wound up about the wedding.

"'My husband is three people'." John continued, chuckling a little as he scrolled through the emails.

Marie grinned but Mary was focused on the floor plan as she asked: "Table five?"

"Done." Marie answered this time, while Sherlock suddenly asked as he looked over the list of guests who hadn't yet replied: "Major James Sholto. Who he?"

Mary explained: "Oh, John's old commanding officer. I don't think he's coming."

She shrugged but John piped up firmly: "He'll be there."

Marie sighed as Mary replied pointedly: "Well, he needs to RSVP, then."

"He'll _be_ there." John repeated and Mary just hummed.

Marie smiled as Mary sent her an exasperated look that clearly said ' _Men_.' Marie flicked her eyes to Sherlock, her brows raised as she communicated silently: ' _Tell me about it._ '

Mary suppressed a smile as John continued: "'My husband is three people'. It's interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin."

"Identical triplets. One in half a million births." Sherlock replied monotonously.

He stood up, gently pushing Marie off his shoulder. "Solved it without leaving the flat. Now," he leaned down, pulling out a tray from beneath the coffee table as he asked: "serviettes. Swan, or Sydney Opera House?"

Marie stared at the two prototypes Sherlock had prepared while Mary asked delightedly: "Where'd you learn to do that?"

Sherlock replied flatly: "Many unexpected skills required in the field of criminal investigation-"

"Fibbing, Sherlock." Mary interrupted while Marie rolled her eyes.

Sherlock continued: "I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of-"

"I'm not John. I can tell when you're fibbing." Mary interrupted sternly.

Sherlock almost sighed as he finally admitted: "Okay, I learned it on YouTube."

Marie raised her brows, looking at Sherlock in disbelief.

"Opera House, please." Mary said without missing a beat. She and Marie shared a glance before Mary commented: "Ooh, hang on. I'm buzzing."

She pulled out her phone from her back pocket, answered: "Hello? Oh, hi, Beth! Yeah, yeah, don't see why not."

Mary walked away, disappearing into the kitchen. John had raised his eyes from his phone, and he glanced at Marie. She nodded minutely and John said aloud: "Actually, if that's Beth, it's probably for me too. Hang on."

John walked out after Mary. Sherlock seated himself on the floor while Marie sighed and got up. She walked over to Sherlock, placing a hand on his shoulder as she sat beside him. He glanced at her briefly before turning his eyes back down.

Marie sighed: "Sherlock, there's nothing you need to be afraid of."

"Who says I'm afraid?" He demanded and Marie pointed out: "You're Youtube-ing serviettes."

He didn't reply and Marie said softly: "It's not going to come sooner just because you want it to be over with quickly."

Sherlock didn't reply and Marie sighed.

"Sherlock, trust me. John is not going to abandon you- and neither will I. Just trust him." She reassured him quietly.

Sherlock murmured quickly: "Who says I don't trust him?"

Marie glanced down.

"Sherlock, can you stop folding serviettes?" She asked pointedly, and his hands froze, almost done with the twenty-sixth Opera House.

He slowly lowered his hands, and Marie murmured: "Besides, I think John needs a break. Take him out on a case; you know as well as I do he could never stand normal civilian life for long."

Sherlock sighed as he murmured: "That's what Mary said."

"Then maybe you should listen to us." Marie teased.

At that moment, John returned to the living room. The two glanced back at the Doctor as he started towards Sherlock before stopping abruptly, taking in the many Opera House serviettes. Sherlock saw his glance and he muttered evasively: "That just sort of ... happened."

John just smiled grimly while Marie grinned. She leaned in to kiss Sherlock's cheek encouragingly, before getting up and going to join Mary. She nodded minutely at John as she walked passed, and John returned the gesture as he walked over to Sherlock.

Marie and Mary pretended to be in deep conversation as they listened in on the boys' conversation.

"Sherlock, um ... mate." John began awkwardly. He then moved over to the desk and Sherlock followed, glancing at the women to make sure they 'couldn't' hear them.

John continued: "I-I've ... I've smelled eighteen different perfumes; I've sampled ... nine different slices of cake which all tasted identical; I _like_ the bridesmaids in purple…"

"Lilac." Sherlock corrected flatly.

"Lilac." John agreed quickly.

"Um, there are no more decisions left to make. I don't even understand the decisions that we _have_ made." John said firmly.

He made a believable excuse as he went on: "I'm faking opinions and it's exhausting, so please, before Mary comes back..." He handed his phone to Sherlock. "Pick something. _Anything_. Pick one."

"Pick what?" Sherlock asked confused and John scoffed as he explained quickly: "A case. Your Inbox is bursting. Just ... get me out of here." He begged believably.

"You want to go out on a case?" Sherlock questioned in shock. "N-now?"

"Please," John said seriously.

He wasn't even sure if he was pretending anymore as he added: "Sherlock, for me."

Sherlock paused, remembering Marie's words and he said quickly: "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll get you out of this."

He clicked through and paused on one as he murmured: "Oh."

Sherlock read quickly: "Dear Mr Holmes, My name is Bainbridge. I'm a Private in Her Majesty's Household Guard. I'm writing to you about a personal matter ... one I don't care to bring before my superiors– it would sound so trivial– but I think someone's stalking me. I'm used to tourists – it's part of the job – but this is different. Someone's watching me. He's taking pictures of me _every_ day. Don't want to mention it to the major, but it's really preying on my mind."

Sherlock commented: "Uniform fetishist. 'All the nice girls like a soldier'."

Sherlock quoted and John corrected: "It's 'sailor'. And Bainbridge thinks his stalker is a bloke. Let's go and investigate. Please?"

"Elite Guard." Sherlock murmured and John nodded as he added: "Forty enlisted men and officers."

Sherlock murmured with interest: "Why this _particular_ Grenadier? Curious."

"Now you're talking." John encouraged and Sherlock handed John his phone back as he agreed: "Okay."

The boys stood up just as Mary said as she walked in with Marie into the living room: "- the French lace is nice too, though…"

Marie sighed: "Mary, just pick one already. Although, I would agree that the French looks a little better with the Freesias."

The boys exchanged glances as John said to Mary: "Er, we're just going to, I need, um, Sherlock to help me choose some, er…"

"Tie." Sherlock said at the same time John said: "Socks."

Mary lifted her brows while Marie rolled her eyes at the boys behind Mary's back. Mary looked between them, before suggesting: "Why don't we go with socks?"

"Yeah." John agreed quickly.

Mary added: "I mean, you've got to get the right ones."

"Exactly – to go with my…"

"Outfit." Sherlock said as John finished: "Tie."

Mary was looking between the two men with some amusement while Marie suppressed a smile. Mary cleared her throat before saying to John: "That'll take a while, right?"

"My coat in there?" John asked evasively as he pointed to the kitchen.

"Yes." Mary replied with a smile and as John disappeared into the kitchen, Sherlock leaned in to Mary.

With Marie standing guard he whispered to the blonde woman: "Just going to take him out for a bit. Run him."

Mary smiled as she replied: "I know. You _said_ you'd find him a case!" She said excitedly and Sherlock grinned as he hummed, glancing at Marie: "Mm."

She nodded at him encouragingly, just as John called: "Coming, Sherlock?"

"Coming." Sherlock called and he walked to the front door.

At the doorway, he turned and Marie suppressed a smirk as she smiled encouragingly at Sherlock in the front doorway and John in the kitchen doorway as the two men gave the women the thumbs up. Mary returned the thumbs up, smiling at both men and the pair turned to walk out, meeting each other in the landing before heading downstairs, neither the wiser.

"What would they do without us?" Mary asked her partner in crime as the men disappeared down the stairs and Marie snorted: "Probably just stay two single men with John having to continue denying he's gay for the rest of his life."

Mary laughed and the two masterminds turned back to make the final wedding adjustments in peace.

* * *

John P.O.V.

John handed over his military ID to the guard, saying firmly: "We're here to see Private Stephen Bainbridge."

"He's on duty right now, sir." The duty Sergeant replied.

He handed the ID back to John as he added politely: "I'll certainly let him know when he's free."

"And when will that be?" Sherlock asked, and the guard turned to him.

"Another hour." He replied.

Sherlock nodded and he and John went back out, heading over to the park across the street. The pair took a seat on a bench directly across from the front of where Bainbridge was on duty, watching the man.

After some time in silence, Sherlock suddenly asked: "Do you think they give them classes?"

"Classes?" John repeated questioningly and Sherlock elaborated: "How to resist the temptation to scratch their behinds?"

John replied monotonously: "Afferent neurons in the peripheral nervous system."

As Sherlock tilted his head just slightly in confusion, John added in explanation: "Bum itch."

"Oh." Sherlock replied.

They held it for a moment longer before both men began to chortle. As their laughter subsided, Sherlock asked abruptly: "So why don't you see him any more?"

John turned to Sherlock questioningly.

"Who?" John asked, surprised and Sherlock elaborated without looking at John: "Your previous commander, Sholto."

"'Previous commander'?" John repeated questioningly and Sherlock quickly corrected: "I meant 'ex'."

John didn't let it go as he said pointedly: ""'Previous' suggests that I currently have a commander."

"Which you don't." Sherlock said with a hint of a smirk and John repeated in agreement: "Which I don't."

"Of course you don't." Sherlock assured, still smirking a little.

There was another pause and Sherlock asked, returning to his original question as he asked curiously: "He was decorated, wasn't he? A war hero."

"Not to everyone." John murmured, before he elaborated: "He led a team of crows into battle."

"'Crows'?" Sherlock interrupted questioningly and John explained: "New recruits. It's standard procedure, break the new boys in, but it went wrong. They all died; he was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you."

He gestured at Sherlock who retorted: "Oh, I wouldn't count on that."

John ignored that as he asked casually: "Why have you suddenly taken an interest in another human being?"

Sherlock paused, eyes flickering a little as he searched for an excuse.

"I'm ... chatting." He said eventually. It was a poor defence and both men knew it as John's brows raised and the shorter man suppressed a smirk while Sherlock muttered: "Won't be trying that again."

"Changing the subject completely..." John trailed off, before he said abruptly: "you know it won't alter anything, right? Me and Mary, getting married? We'll still be doing all this."

He nodded at them sitting on the bench in the middle of a case. Sherlock just said lightly: "Oh, good."

"If you were worrying." John added and Sherlock scoffed: "I wasn't worried."

There was another moment's silence as John turned back to watch the guard. He chuckled a little as he thought of Mary. He began, wanting Sherlock to understand why Mary was so important to him: "See, the thing about Mary, she has completely turned my life around. Changed everything."

There was no response so John added sincerely: "But, for the record, over the last few years there are three people who have done that... Marie's obviously one and… the other one is-"

John turned to look at Sherlock, only to find he was talking to thin air, Sherlock having vanished at some point.

"A complete dickhead." He finished in annoyance.

* * *

John P.O.V.

John sat opposite Major Reed, waiting for his approval to see Bainbridge. Sherlock was probably somewhere inside already, and John sighed internally. He wished either that Sherlock had cared to take him with him, or that Sherlock had thought the plan through a little more- if he got caught, things could go south very well.

John shook himself out of his thoughts as Reed finally put his ID card down and asked: "Can I ask what this is in connection with?"

"Private Bainbridge contacted us about a personal matter, sir." John replied firmly.

Reed gave him a stern look as he said flatly: "Nothing's personal when it concerns my troops." Reed gave a grim smirk as he asked suspiciously: "What do you really want?"

John sighed internally but outwardly he remained firm as he said: "I'm here on a legitimate enquiry."

"You press?" Reed asked, ignoring him. "Digging for some bloody Royal story or something?"

John frowned as he replied: "No, sir, I'm…" He indicated his ID card, which the Major still held. "Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Retired." Reed interjected sternly.

John paused as Reed added pointedly: "You could be a used car salesman now, for all I know."

Reed examined John and he said slowly as his eyes narrowed: "I _know_ you, don't I?"

"Hmm?" John asked, frowning in confusion.

Reed tossed his ID back at him as he realized where he knew John from. "I've seen you in the papers. Hang around with that detective, the one with the silly hat."

John knew he was in trouble now, but he remained outwardly impassive as Reed demanded: "What the hell does Bainbridge want with a detective?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say." John replied as he tucked away his ID.

"You're not at liberty to say?" Reed repeated furiously. "He's a soldier in my regiment. I'll be damned if he's going to get up to cloak and dagger nonsense like this."

Suddenly the door to the Major's office burst open and a duty Sergeant dashed in calling: "Sir." He glanced at John but repeated urgently: "Sir."

"What's going on?" Reed ordered as both he and John looked at the Sergeant.

"It's Bainbridge, sir." The duty Sergeant replied quickly. "He's dead."

Reed's mouth fell open in shock and he shot up. John got up quickly as well, following the two men as the Sergeant led them to the locker room shower. They all dashed in to see a young man lying on the ground amongst broken glass, bleeding heavily from a stab wound in his side.

"My God!" Reed cried in shock as he ran over to examine the situation. John sighed as he walked over as well, and Reed glanced over, stopping him quickly in alarm.

"Ah, no," John said quickly, "let me take a look, sir. I'm a doctor."

"What?" Reed asked in disbelief. He then glanced over at the Sergeant, ordering: "Sergeant, arrest this man."

He indicated John, who asked incredulously: "What?"

As the Sergeant grabbed him and dragged him back John protested: "No-no! I'm a – I'm a doctor."

"Oh, you're a doctor now, too." Reed asked scornfully.

"Sergeant." He ordered, but John snapped trying to stay calm: "Let me examine him, _please_!"

He added as the Sergeant began to drag him out when another soldier called from the door: "Sir."

Reed looked up to see another Sergeant walk in, dragging Sherlock in with him.

"Caught this one snooping around." He informed. John looked at Sherlock incredulously while Sherlock ignored all of them as he glanced down at the body and his eyes roamed around the whole shower stall.

Reed was looking beyond furious as he demanded, looking at John: "Is that what this was all about? Distracting me so that _this_ man," he pointed at Sherlock, "could get in here and kill Bainbridge?"

"Don't be-" John began, almost sighing resigned when Sherlock butted in sharply: "Kill him with what? Where's the weapon?"

"What?" Reed asked, looking at the detective, who repeated flatly: "Where's the weapon? Go on, search me, no weapon."

John added: "Bainbridge was on parade. He came off duty five minutes ago. When's this supposed to have happened?"

Reed snarled: "You obviously stabbed him before he got into the shower."

"No." Sherlock dismissed irritably.

" _No_?" Reed repeated incredulously and Sherlock explained monotonously, still working through the case in his head: "He's soaking wet and there's still shampoo in his hair. He got into the shower and then someone stabbed him."

The duty sergeant still holding John added: "The cubicle was locked from the inside, sir. I had to break it open."

Reed replied, but he sounded more doubtful now: "You must have climbed over the top."

"Well then I'd be soaking wet too, wouldn't I?" Sherlock pointed out, indicating his dry clothes. He was still in his coat and scarf- anyone could see he wouldn't have had time to dry himself.

John interrupted with forced calm: "Major, please. I'm John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and _Bart's bloody Hospital!"_

John snapped angrily, no longer able to keep calm: "Let me examine this body.

Reed paused, and finally nodded at the duty Sergeant, who let John go.

"Thank you." John said in a tone of mixed sarcasm and attempted calm. John removed his coat, walking over to the body.

"Suicide?" The duty Sergeant asked Sherlock quietly and Sherlock shook his head.

"No. The weapon again, no knife." Sherlock explained before walking over to look at the shower cubicle and Bainbridge intently, taking in all the details that he could.

"Hmm. There is a wound to the abdomen, incredibly fine." John murmured as he examined Bainbridge's side.

Sherlock murmured as he thought aloud: "Man stabbed to death. No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside."

John had moved to check the man's neck, pressing his fingers against where the pulse would have been and checking the man's eye. Sherlock continued: "Only one way in or out of here."

He glanced briefly at the bathroom door, before looking back at the shower cubicle.

"Sherlock." John suddenly interrupted slowly.

"Mmm?" Sherlock asked vaguely and John continued: "He's still breathing."

Sherlock looked down at the body immediately as the duty Sergeant gasped: "Oh my God."

"What do we do?" Sherlock asked, out of his depth and John said in a firm, calm voice: "Give me your scarf."

"What?" Sherlock asked, confused and John ordered sharply: " _Quickly, now."_

As Sherlock did as he was told, John looked at the Major, ordering: "Call an ambulance."

"What?" The man asked dumbly, all the others still in shock, and John repeated loudly: "Call an ambulance now."

When no-one moved, he looked at the Sergeants and ordered sharply: "Do it!"

The two Sergeants dashed out to follow orders as John leaned back on the body and ordered Sherlock: "Nurse, press here, hard."

He indicated the scarf he'd placed on Bainbridge's wound, moving back to the man's head while Sherlock asked in disbelief: "'Nurse'?"

"Yeah, I'm making do." John retorted. "Keep pressure on that wound."

Sherlock quickly moved to do as he was told, while John opened the man's eye and called softly: "Steven. Steven, stay with me."


	10. Mysteries

_Back in the present:_

Sherlock explained to the wedding guests: "Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He'd stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon."

He paused for dramatic effect before asking mysteriously: "Where did it go?"

John looked up, confused, as Sherlock continued: "Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish. But in all of this there is only one element, which can be said to be truly remarkable."

He paused once more.

"Would anyone like to make a guess?" Sherlock questioned, before adding: "Not you, Marie."

John, Mary and Marie all chuckled while the rest of the crowd looked thoughtful, all of them trying to work out the mystery. But they all avoided Sherlock's gaze as no-one felt confident in a guess.

Sherlock sighed: "Come on, come on, there is actually an element of Q and A to all of this."

When no-one answered, Sherlock cleared his throat before calling: "Scotland Yard. Have you got a theory?"

When Lestrade looked surprised, Sherlock added: "Yeah, you. You're a detective, broadly speaking. Got a theory?"

"Er, um…" Lestrade began thoughtfully, "if the, uh, if the, if-if-if, if the blade was, er, propelled through the, um... grating in the air vent..." he continued haphazardly, "maybe a-a ballista or a – or a – or a catapult. Erm, somebody tiny could-could crawl in there."

Even he didn't sound like he believed his words as he declared: "So, yeah, we're loo... we're looking for a-a-a-a dwarf."

Sherlock stared.

"Brilliant." He blurted out and Lestrade asked in surprise: "Really?"

Marie snorted when Sherlock replied flatly: "No."

Lestrade rolled his eyes while Marie smiled, patting his arm as he leaned back in irritation and Sherlock called: "Next!"

"He stabbed himself." Tom whispered to Molly as though it was obvious and Sherlock asked quickly: "Hello? Who was that?"

He looked over to see the other tall man looking a little guilty and he called on him: "Tom."

Molly looked mortified as Tom slowly stood up, and Marie shot the man a surprised look.

"Got a theory?" Sherlock questioned and Tom began: "Um ... attempted suicide, with a blade made of compacted blood and bone; broke after piercing his abdomen, like a meat... dagger."

Molly's mouth had fallen slack, her face clearly asking for the heavens to save her from this embarrassment. Marie winced and glanced at her sympathetically while Sherlock asked flatly: "A meat dagger."

"Yes." Tom replied, looking a little awkward while a few people from the crowd chuckled.

"Sit. Down." Molly whispered angrily.

"No." Sherlock added flatly, and Tom sat down in disappointment. Marie glanced at Molly, who just looked back at her tiredly.

"Sorry." Marie mouthed to her and Molly shook her head.

Sherlock had continued: "There was one feature, and only one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson."

Sherlock declared. Mary looked up quickly, before looking at John proudly as Sherlock explained: "Who, while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life."

Marie smiled broadly at Sherlock as he said: "There _are_ mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling. The best and bravest man I know, and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff."

John laughed and Sherlock added: "Except wedding planning and serviettes, he's rubbish at those."

"True!" John interjected and the whole crowd laughed at that.

Sherlock continued: "The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly planned murder, or attempted murder, I've ever had the pleasure to encounter. The most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware."

"However, I'm not just here to praise John, I'm also here to embarrass him, so let's move on to some…"

Sherlock changed subjects abruptly and Marie raised a brow as Lestrade interrupted, confused: "No-no, wait, so how was it, how was it done?"

Marie rolled her eyes as Sherlock asked confused: "How was _what_ done?"

"The stabbing." Lestrade explained and Sherlock paused. The whole crowd leaned forward expectantly, while Marie grinned, knowing what was coming.

Sherlock murmured uncomfortably: "I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't solve that one. That's ... It can happen sometimes. It's very ... very disappointing."

Sherlock sighed a little, still regretfully. Marie wrinkled her nose, also disappointed. Sherlock had explained the details to her when the two men had returned from the hospital after Bainbridge was declared stable, but she hadn't been able to provide much help. Between not seeing the situation with her own eyes and the generally baffling details, the two had been forced to give up.

Sherlock moved on: "Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night."

John leaned back with a chortle, looking forward to this story, while Marie raised a brow. She'd been busy helping Mary with final wedding preparations, and so was unaware of most of the details of this particular story.

"Of course there's hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits."

* * *

THE MAYFLY MAN

 _Four days before the wedding_

"Murder scenes?" Molly repeated, looking up at Sherlock incredulously.

The pair were standing in Bart's lab, and Molly was currently staring at Sherlock in disbelief, unable to believe she'd heard correctly.

"Locations of ... murders?" She checked and Sherlock nodded as he answered shortly: "Mmmm, pub crawl, themed."

"Yeah, but why-why can't you just do Underground stations?" Molly asked in confusion.

Sherlock grimaced a little, before he said as an excuse: "It lacks the personal touch. We're going to go for a drink in every street where we…"

"…every street where you found a corpse." Molly joined in and as Sherlock trailed off she finished.

She looked up and said sarcastically: "Delightful. Where do I come in?" She asked expectantly and Sherlock explained: "Don't want to get ill. That would ruin it, spoil the mood."

Molly looked at him disbelievingly as she asked, a tad sarcastic: "You're a graduate chemist. Can't you just work it out?"

"I lack the practical experience." Sherlock retorted and Molly asked flatly: "Meaning you think I like a drink."

"Occasionally." Sherlock replied and Molly added monotonously: "That I'm a drunk."

"No. No!" Sherlock protested but Molly added pointedly: "Why else would you ask me and not Marie?"

Sherlock paused, trying to find a way out.

"You look ... well." He said slowly and Molly raised her brows.

"I am." She replied shortly and Sherlock asked: "How's..."

He thought for a moment.

"Tom?" He asked, sounding more questioning about the name rather than how the person was, and Molly said pointedly: "Not a sociopath."

"Good…" Sherlock began but Molly interjected: "And we're having quite a lot of sex."

Sherlock paused, looking uncomfortable, while Molly's lips quirked. She knew it was likely Sherlock was no longer a virgin- John had hinted as much about Marie and Sherlock's relationship- but she knew the subject still made him uncomfortable.

She finally let Sherlock relax as she answered: "Alright, I'll help, and keep it a secret from Marie."

Sherlock beamed: "Okay. I want you to calculate John's ideal intake, and mine," he slammed a file on the counter before the woman, "to remain in the sweet spot the whole evening."

"Light-headed, good…" He began as he handed her information and Molly finished: "Urinating in wardrobes, bad."

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed.

* * *

 _Two days before the wedding_

"Two, er ... beers, please." Sherlock requested of the bartender, who asked: "Pints?"

"443.7 millilitres." Sherlock replied as he set the two long measuring tubes on the counter. The barman gave him an odd look.

 _*A few minutes later*_

"Ah..." John looked up with a smile as Sherlock returned, but it dropped as he looked at the two measuring tubes Sherlock had placed on the table between them. He sighed as Sherlock took out his phone and began a timer.

"What, are we on a schedule?" John asked sarcastically and Sherlock replied lightly: "You'll thank me."

He smiled and clinked his tube against John's. John just let it go and both men drained their beers.

* * *

The rest of the time passed in a similar fashion as Sherlock dragged John around to various pubs and clubs around London. At the fifth pub, John looked around for the bathroom.

"Over there." Sherlock nodded, and John asked confused: "What?"

"Toilets." Sherlock explained. "Any second now, you're going to- "

"Hang on. Tell me after, I need the loo." John interrupted as he made to get up.

Sherlock checked his phone as he hummed: "Mmm, on schedule."

"Eh?" John asked, unable to hear above the loud music and Sherlock replied: "Nothing. Go!"

John quickly left, and Sherlock began to punch in his findings, including his estimates of blood alcohol.

When John returned, Sherlock asked: "How long?"

"Sorry?" John asked in confusion and Sherlock elaborated: "Your visit. If you could estimate approximate volume discharged…"

"Stop talking now." John interrupted irritably. Sherlock did as he was told, knowing he shouldn't push John any further.

At the next club, John decided to get revenge. He ordered a shot, and then asked the bartender quickly: "Ooh, er ... Quick, one more. He mustn't see."

John quickly took the shot, and then accepted the next one the bartender handed him. "Ta."

He quickly poured it into one of the measuring tubes and carried it over to Sherlock. He paused on the way though, having forgotten which one he'd poured the shot into. He quickly sniffed one and then handed it to Sherlock: "There you go. Cheers."

Of course, that caused things to go south very quickly. About an hour later, John was forced out of drunk-induced sleepy stupor as he tried to help Sherlock when the younger man got into a fight with another man… over ash.

 _Half an hour later_

"I have an international reputation." Sherlock groaned out as the pair lay on the stairs leading up to 221B, neither having the energy to move.

"Do _you_ have an international reputation?" He asked John who replied sleepily: "No, I don't have an international reputation."

"No." Sherlock said gleefully before he paused.

He then added: "And I can't even remember what for. It's... Crime... something or other."

The pair were almost asleep when Mrs. Hudson walked out of her flat to throw out the trash.

"Ooh!" She started in surprise as she saw the two men lying side by side on the stairs. She asked incredulously: "What are _you_ doing back? I thought you were going to be out late."

"Ah, Hudders. What time is it?" Sherlock asked and Mrs. Hudson checked her watch.

"You've only been out two hours." She murmured as she walked by, carrying her trash out. She added: "Not even Rose-Marie's back yet."

At that, Sherlock started, sitting up tiredly and forcing John to get up as well.

 _Another half hour later_

John and Sherlock stared at each other intently from their seats opposite each other. The two men were trying their hardest to focus through the haze the alcohol had induced on their brains.

"Am I a vegetable?" John asked seriously and Sherlock replied: "You, or the thing?"

The two men started to laugh, Sherlock's whiskey spilling a little as his hands swayed.

"Funny." John chuckled and Sherlock mock-bowed, saying: "Thank you."

"Come on." John said impatiently.

Sherlock looked at the piece of paper stuck on John's head before he replied seriously: "No, you're not a vegetable."

"It's your go." John conceded as he leaned back in his armchair, reaching for his own glass of whisky.

Sherlock sighed as he thought: "Errr ... am I human?"

John paused before answering vaguely: "Sometimes."

"Can't have 'sometimes.' Has to be, um..." Sherlock pushed himself up on his seat to sit straighter.

"Yes, you're human." John replied as Sherlock finished: "'Yes' or 'no.' Okay."

Sherlock leaned forward onto his knees as he asked: "And am I a man?"

"Yep." John replied and Sherlock asked: "Tall?"

"Not as tall as people think." John replied lazily as he looked at the name written on the paper stuck to Sherlock's forehead.

"Hmm. Nice?" Sherlock tried and John replied: "Ish."

"Clever?" Sherlock asked and John replied slowly: "I'd say so."

Sherlock said thoughtfully: "You would? Mmm…"

John began to chuckle while Sherlock thought for another question.

"Am I important?" He asked and John replied with a slur: "To s-some people."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he asked mockingly: "Do 'people'," Sherlock made air quotes, "like me?"

"Er, no, they don't." John replied, suppressing a smile as he told Sherlock: "You tend to rub 'em up the wrong way."

"Okay." Sherlock replied easily, falling back onto his chair as John chuckled again.

Sherlock had a light-bulb moment and he leaned forward again as he asked: "Am I the current King of England?"

"We…" John snorted with laughter as he tried to reply.

"You know we don't _have_ a king?" He asked, and Sherlock asked confusedly: "Don't we?"

"No." John laughed and Sherlock shrugged as he replied: "Your go."

He flung himself back in his chair, sipping on his whiskey. John leaned forward intently, leaning in and almost falling out his chair. He grabbed Sherlock's knee to steady himself, and then glanced at the contact. Sherlock just shrugged and John shrugged back as he commented: "I don't mind."

Sherlock shrugged again as the words were taken from his mouth by John, and he watched with amusement as John asked: "Am I a woman?"

Sherlock snorted, before bursting into giggles and John asked with amusement in his voice: "What?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied at last and John tried: "Am I ... pretty?"

Sherlock almost burst into giggles again and John snorted as he pointed to his forehead.

"This _._ " He clarified and Sherlock sighed a little before replying drunkenly: "Beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models."

"Yeah, but am I a pretty lady?" John asked, disinterested, and Sherlock sighed as he leaned in, squinting at the word written on John's paper in his own hand: 'Madonna'.

He admitted suddenly: "I don't know who you are. I don't know who you're supposed to be."

"You picked the name!" John said in exasperation and Sherlock replied with a shrug: "Yeah, but I picked it at random from the papers."

John stared at his friend before he asked: "You're not really getting the hang of this game, are you, Sherlock?"

He leaned back in defeat, falling into his chair while Sherlock listed: "So I am human, I'm not as tall as people think I am. I'm-I'm nice-ish," he waved his hands as he thought aloud and John nodded as he folded his arms, "clever, important to some people. But I tend to rub them up the wrong way."

He suddenly started to laugh and he said: "Got it."

"Go on, then." John encouraged and Sherlock said triumphantly: "I'm you, aren't I?"

John started to laugh as well, and the two men sat chortling when Mrs. Hudson suddenly knocked, hooting from the door: "Ooh-ooh! Client!"

The pair looked over to see a nervous woman standing at the doorway.

"Hello." John called while Sherlock waved cheerfully and said: "Hallo!"

"Come on." John encouraged and the woman took a step inside, asking pleadingly: "Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?"

John turned and made a whistling noise as he lifted a finger to point at the paper on Sherlock's forehead that read: 'Sherlock Holmes'. Sherlock was just grinning stupidly as the woman stared at them from the doorway.

 _A few minutes later_

"I don't... a lot," Tessa was explaining as she sat in the chair opposite the two men.

"I mean, I don't... date all that much... and... he seemed... nice, you know?" She said with a soft smile, and John blinked sleepily while Sherlock's head lolled back a little. "We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night. Dinner- such interesting conversation. It was... lovely."

"To be honest, I'd love to have gone further," Sherlock blinked, eyes staying closed before he quickly roused himself again, "but I thought, 'No, this is special. Let's take it slowly. Exchange numbers.'"

Sherlock nodded as he placed his chin on his hands, leaning forward while John leaned back.

"He said he'd get in touch and then..." Her face fell and she said sadly: "Maybe he wasn't quite as keen as I was... but I – I just thought..." she swallowed, "at least he'd call to say that we were finished."

Tessa began to sob a little, wiping her eyes and Sherlock's gaze became pitying as he watched the woman. But as he turned away, he frowned in irritation.

Tessa took a deep breath before adding: "I went round there, to his flat. No trace of him. Mr Holmes, I honestly think… I had dinner... with a ghost."

Sherlock mumbled softly and Tessa stared at him.

"Mr Holmes?" She asked but the man stayed still with his eyes closed. She was too busy watching him to notice John had fallen asleep too and was snoring softly.

"With a _ghost_ , Mr Holmes!" Tessa snapped and Sherlock's head fell from his hands, causing him to jerk upright and awake.

As he did so, he said irritably: "Boring, boring, boring – no!"

He stopped as something hit him. He lifted a finger and his eyes were sharper now as he murmured: "Fascinating."

Tessa looked relieved and Sherlock called: "John."

He turned to see his friend asleep and shook him as he said impatiently: "John! Wake up! Apologies about my, you know..." Sherlock gestured at John, trying to come up with the word, "thing."

He cleared his throat and scolded John drunkenly: "Rude. Rude!"

Sherlock turned back to the woman, who said despairingly: "I checked with the landlord, and the man who lived there died. Heart attack. And there we are, having dinner one week on. And I found this thing," she reached for her bag, digging through it as she continued: "online, sort of chatroom thing, for girls who think they're dating men from the spirit world."

She handed the paper she'd printed off to Sherlock, who took it and declared: "Don't worry. I'll find him in ten minutes."

He stood, staggering on his feet but Tessa didn't seem to notice as she beamed.

"What's your dog's name?" Sherlock added and her smile fell, becoming confused.

John muttered, still mostly asleep: "Yeah, I'm there if you want it…"

"John, wake up." Sherlock walked back to shake his friend's shoulder. "We're meant to..."

John twitched, opening his eyes as Sherlock muttered: "The game's..." he clicked his fingers, "something."

Sherlock staggered out the door while John sat, raising his eyes in thought.

"... On." John remembered and Tessa gasped in delight while Sherlock returned to say excitedly: "Yeah, that, that!"

He staggered back out as Tessa said determinedly: "Okay."

* * *

 _Some time later_

Sherlock was peering at a glass decorative mirror, trying to keep his eyes open as he leaned in too far and almost toppled over. John was standing nearby, leaning against a pillar as he breathed: "Ohhh, it's nice. Nice place."

Sherlock had fallen onto the couch and the landlord was staring at the two men incredulously. Tessa called to Sherlock: "See anything?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked as he strolled about the room, staggering on his feet and Tessa elaborated: "Any clues, Mr Holmes?"

"Oh, errrrrr..." Sherlock replied, glancing around the well-furnished flat but all the information he'd normally see in a flash was jumbling in his drunken mind. He muttered as he faced Tessa: "I'm just gonna whip this out."

He swung back to the room, drunk on his feet and staggered passed the landlord who watched him in disgust as the man pulled out his detective kit.

"Mm-hmm." Sherlock said proudly as he pulled out his small magnifying glass, tossing the rest of the kit over his shoulder. The landlord folded his arms sceptically while Sherlock collapsed to his knees as he leaned down over the carpet, struggling to stay somewhat upright.

John was leaning forward precariously as well, and Tessa touched him gently, getting his attention as she asked: "You all right?"

"Hmm?" John asked and seeing her before him he said confidently: "Yeah. He's clueing."

"What?" Tessa asked confused and John continued: "He's ... hmm?"

Her words pierced his brain and he explained: "He's clueing for looks."

The pair stared at Sherlock, John trying to stay awake and Tessa unsure of what was going on anymore. Sherlock had leaned in close to the carpet, the magnifying glass right against his eye as his head lolled forward before it collapsed onto the carpet as his eyes shut.

From the back, he looked absolutely ridiculous, bent over with his head planted on the ground.

"Mr Holmes?" Tessa asked, and Sherlock began to snore.

"Mr Holmes?" She repeated loudly, and the landlord snapped at last: "I'm calling the police."

The landlord walked over to grab Sherlock and Tessa protested: "Oh, no..."

As the landlord pulled Sherlock up, the detective cried: "Whoa, whoa, _whoa_!"

He flung his arms out of the other man's grip as Tessa tried to explain: "This is a famous detective. It's Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson."

John blinked while Sherlock demanded angrily but somewhat breathlessly: "What do you think you're doing?"

The group all stared at the man as Sherlock said sternly: "Don't compromise the integrity of the..."

He paused, his face colour changing. He suddenly bent over and the vomited all over the carpet. Tessa looked shocked, the landlord raised his eyes to the heavens for patience as he tried not to look in disgust while John just finished: "crime scene!"

John grinned as he waved. The landlord looked at him incredulously while Sherlock coughed before coming back up and saying to the group: "Yeah, that."

* * *

 _Three days before the wedding_

John groaned, his head pounding as Lestrade's voice called loudly: "Wakey-wakey!"

"Oh my God." John moaned before he raised his head and squinted at the door.

"Greg. Is that Greg?" He asked and Lestrade replied: "Get up. I'm gonna put you two in a taxi."

John groaned as he tried to get up off the holding cell floor while Lestrade continued: "Managed to square things with the desk sergeant. Thank me, and Marie, later."

Lestrade began to laugh as John got to his feet and shrugged his stiff shoulders.

"What a couple of lightweights! You couldn't even make it to closing time!" Lestrade laughed and John asked in a hoarse voice, with a pained frown: "Can you whisper?"

"NOT REALLY!" Lestrade shouted at him to tease him. His loud voice caused Sherlock to jerk awake from where he was lying on the cell bench. John groaned and frowned at Lestrade before staggering out and Lestrade turned to Sherlock.

"Come on." He coaxed and the man staggered to his feet, barely managing to walk as he made his way out the cell door.

"Well," John began as the pair stood before the police desk, gathering their belongings, "thanks for, you know…" John searched for the right words, "an evening."

"It was awful." Sherlock replied bluntly as they turned to walk out into the passage.

John replied flatly as Sherlock clutched his head: "Yeah. I was gonna pretend, but it was _,_ truly _._ "

"That woman, Tessa..." Sherlock interjected and John asked with a confused frown: "What?"

"Dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a _wasted_ opportunity." He snapped as he walked out the station and John just sighed as he muttered: "Okay."

Both men winced as they stepped outside into the early morning to see Lestrade standing beside Marie. The pair were waiting with the taxi door propped open, Marie's arms were folded and her lips were pressed into a thin, angry line.

"I hope you're proud of yourself." She snapped to Sherlock, who groaned.

Marie turned to John as she said: "I haven't told Mary-"

"Thank God." John breathed but Marie added: "but I will."

He groaned while Sherlock muttered under his breath. It sounded suspiciously like: ' _At least I won't be the only one in the dog house._ '

Marie ignored him as she added: "I've also apologized to the woman, Tessa, and that landlord. She said it was fine once I explained everything and she's hoping to hear back from you again soon."

Sherlock blinked in surprise as Marie turned and climbed into the cab without another word. Lestrade added: "You really should thank her. She was up all night cleaning up after the mess you two made, and she's the reason that I risked my neck to get you two out."

Sherlock and John stared at him for a moment before mutely climbing into the cab. Lestrade shut the door behind them and the three drove back to 221B in silence.


	11. Puzzle

_About two hours later_

John drank the aspirin, wincing as his head continued to pound.

"How are you feeling?" Mrs. Hudson asked and John just hummed from his seat at her kitchen table, incapable of replying properly.

Mrs. Hudson sighed: "It's just like old times, having you back here. Thought I'd make your favourite, one last time."

She placed a full English breakfast in front of John kindly and John murmured: "Oh…"

He cleared his throat, trying to sound normal as he said: ""Don't sound so... final about it. I _will_ be visiting, you know."

"Ooh, I've heard that one before!" Mrs. Hudson scoffed and John replied: "Mm, no, it's different now, though, isn't it? It's different to when we thought we'd lost him."

He lifted a piece of toast with baked beans to his mouth but paused.

"Well, marriage changes everything, John." Mrs. Hudson replied, oblivious to John's discomfort as he held the food before his mouth, lowering the fork slightly.

"Does it?" John asked absentmindedly as he tried not to hurl.

Mrs. Hudson was saying: "Yeah. You might not think it, but it does. It's a different phase in your life."

John placed his fork down, pushing the suddenly unappetizing plate a little away as Mrs. Hudson continued: "You meet new people 'cause you're a couple."

"Mmm." John replied and Mrs. Hudson sighed: "And then you just... let your old friends slip away."

"It won't be like that." John replied firmly and Mrs. Hudson sighed: "Well, I suppose it's different since Sherlock has Rose-Marie, too. But until he joins you in husband-hood-"

"Well, that might be a while away. It is Sherlock." John pointed out and there was a pause as the two sat and thought about that thought for a moment.

Mrs. Hudson then continued, picking up where she'd left off: "Well, if you've found the right one, the person that you click with, it's the best thing in the world."

"Well, I have. I _know_ I have." John said firmly and with a happy shrug.

Mrs. Hudson sighed happily: "Oh, I'm sure. She's lovely! I like her as much as I like Rose-Marie!"

"Yeah. I think so, too." John murmured, before he looked at Mrs. Hudson curiously.

"What about you?" He asked and the elderly woman looked at him in surprise as she asked: "Me?"

"Did you think you'd found the right one when you married Mr Hudson?" John asked, and Mrs. Hudson laughed as she replied: "No. It was just a whirlwind thing for us. I knew it wouldn't work, but I just got sort of swept along."

"Right." John nodded, but Mrs. Hudson continued: "And then we moved to Florida. We had a fantastic time, but of course I didn't know what he was up to."

John cocked his head confused and Mrs. Hudson whispered: "The drugs."

"Drugs?" John repeated incredulously, before he winced as his migraine returned a little.

Mrs. Hudson carried on, not noticing: "He was running a... um," Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips in thought as she tried to think of the word. "Oh, what d'you call it? Um, a... cartel. Got in with a really bad crowd."

"Right." John said slowly, trying to think around the headache and Mrs. Hudson carried on: "And then I found out about all the other women."

John looked at her in surprise and sympathy.

"I didn't have a clue! So, when he was actually arrested for blowing someone's head off. It was quite a relief, to be honest."

John paused, not sure how to respond and he finally murmured: "Right."

Mrs. Hudson assured: "It was purely physical between me and Frank. We couldn't keep our hands off each other."

John made a face, his migraine returning but for a different reason now.

Mrs. Hudson went on: "And, um, there was one night-"

John raised a finger to stop her, and he asked quickly as he turned to listen upstairs.

"Hang on, is that Sherlock?" He asked and Mrs. Hudson asked, confused: "Is it?"

John lifted a finger to his lips and they heard low, heavy footsteps pattering about upstairs. "No, it's Sherlock."

* * *

 _A minute later_

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock sat clean and freshly dressed, reading a news article about Major Sholto titled: 'V.C. Hero- the unanswered questions: Why did my boy have to die?'

Marie sat beside him, leaning against his side as he worked at the desk. The two had reconciled after Sherlock had apologized to, and thanked Marie… and they'd spent the better part of an hour in the shower together. They both heard footsteps on the stairs, and Sherlock cleared his throat as he switched the screen, opening up to 'I Dated A '.

As John appeared in the doorway, Marie sent him a smile in greeting, which John returned with a small nod, and Sherlock piped up: "There are going to be others."

"Others?" John asked confused.

Marie smiled and kissed Sherlock's cheek as she got up. "I have to go, I promised Mary I'd help her with the final dress fittings today. Try not to burn the flat down and I'll see you two later?"

She directed the latter part to John, her eyes questioning. John nodded and Marie smiled, giving him a pat on the arm as she left.

John walked over to see what Sherlock was looking at and Sherlock elaborated: "Victims, women. Most ghosts tend to haunt a single house. This ghost, however, is willing to commute, look."

Sherlock nodded at the map sitting on the desk behind his laptop, upon which Marie had placed some tacks to mark various locations around London.

Sherlock closed his eyes and retreated into his mind palace. Sherlock walked into a parliamentary chamber filled with different women from the website. He walked slowly to the centre of the room, taking in all the women thoughtfully. "Mmm, not you."

He pointed at one woman who sat down.

"Not you." He continued, and each woman he pointed at sat down.

"Not you." He said to the final woman, who sat.

Sherlock turned around, walking over slowly to one of the women still standing.

"Hi." He greeted.

"Gail." The pretty Indian woman introduced. Sherlock turned and walked over to face a red-haired woman in the second row.

"Charlotte." She introduced.

Sherlock turned again, and the brunette woman said: "Robyn."

Sherlock turned to the final woman and the short blonde said: "Vicky."

The room emptied in his mind as Sherlock discarded all the facts about the other women, and he stood facing the four women as they all stood in a circle in the centre of the chamber.

"How did you meet?" He asked, and Gail replied: "Came up to me in a pub."

Charlotte shrugged: "Same gym as me."

"We just got chatting on the bus." Robyn said, and Vicky answered as she glanced Sherlock up and down: "Online."

"Name?" Sherlock inquired and Gail replied with a confused frown: "Told you."

Sherlock corrected: "His name."

"Oscar." Gail replied swiftly.

"Mike." Charlotte replied and Robyn shrugged: "Terry."

"Um, 'Love Monkey'." Vicky said, and Sherlock pulled a disgusted face, but he moved on.

"Your place?" He asked and all four women replied at once: "His place."

Sherlock looked around at each of them carefully before he asked: "Address?"

Each of them answered at once, but they were all different.

 _"_ Nothing happened." Gail added defensively. "It was just... very romantic."

She lowered her eyes, a soft smile on her face as she remembered the night. Sherlock ignored that as he murmured: "Four women in four nights. He must have something special." Sherlock prompted.

"He was very charming." Gail replied and Charlotte answered: "Innocent."

"He was sweet." Robyn sighed and Vicky began: "He had a lovely-"

"You okay?" John asked, suddenly appearing in the room beside Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked and he was outside of his mind palace, back in his flat and standing before six laptops, all opened on the coffee table. Each one had information about each woman pulled up and a chat dedicated to each woman open.

John continued obliviously as he looked down at the untouched breakfast beside the computers: "Let your food go cold. Mrs Hudson will play hell."

"Oh, not now, John." Sherlock sighed irritably.

John muttered: "Marie won't be happy either."

Sherlock chose to ignore that as he returned to his mind palace.

"Sorry about that." He said and Vicky continued: "He had a lovely manner."

Sherlock murmured thoughtfully: "Different names, different addresses."

An idea popped into his mind and he suggested to the women: "Describe him."

"Short blond hair." Gail replied.

"Dark hair. Long." Charlotte added thoughtfully, and Robyn replied promptly: "Ginger. I like gingers."

"Couldn't tell." Vicky replied with a shrug. Sherlock frowned and she explained: "He had a mask on."

Sherlock turned away, and began to rifle through the news on the fifth laptop, reading the obituaries sections. He realized: "He's stealing the identity of corpses, getting the names from the Obituary columns. All single men. He's using the dead man's flat under the assumption it'll be empty for a while."

Sherlock looked up in understanding: "Free love nest."

"I feel sick." Gail murmured and Robyn nodded as she winced: "It's gruesome."

"That's awful." Charlotte muttered with a disgusted frown, while Vicky smirked appreciatively: "Clever!"

"Bastard!" Tessa chimed in as she appeared suddenly.

Sherlock turned to the sixth laptop, and typed in: "Hello, Tessa."

Going back to his mind palace, he continued: "Meanwhile, back to business. No-one wants to use a dead man's home."

Vicky shrugged and Sherlock ignored that pointedly.

He continued: "At least not until it's been cleared. So, he disguises himself, steals the man's home, steals his identity."

"But only for one night." John suddenly chimed in, appearing beside Sherlock again.

"Then he's gone." John said wonderingly.

Sherlock explained: "He's not a ghost, John. He's a mayfly. He lives for a day. So."

Sherlock returned to the five women and John disappeared from his mind palace as Sherlock focused once more.

"What was it he was looking for?" Sherlock murmured.

"Job?" Sherlock tried and Gail replied: "Gardener."

"Cook." Charlotte answered and Tessa added: "Private nurse."

"I do security work." Robyn answered and Vicky replied: "Maid."

Sherlock hummed in thought, and then it hit him.

"Obvious. You all work for the same person!" He muttered triumphantly.

He looked through their personal information, scanning quickly, and then sighed.

"No, not the same employer. Damn _._ " He groaned, before closing his eyes as he muttered: "Come on. We can do this."

He opened his eyes again and asked: "Ideal night out?"

"Clay pigeon shooting." Gail replied.

"Line dancing." Charlotte said.

Tessa shrugged: "Pictures?"

"Wine in front of the telly." Robyn replied smartly and Vicky said suggestively: "Dungeon."

Sherlock almost groaned as he cocked his head a little in disgust, before he focused back on the subject.

"Makeup?" He tried.

"Clarins."

"No. 7."

"Maybelline."

"Nothing special."

"Whatever's cheap."

' _Yeah, looks like it._ ' Marie's voice suddenly piped up from behind Sherlock as she stared at Vicky with a wrinkled nose. Sherlock almost groaned- why was she outside of her wing again?- but he moved on.

"Perfume?" He asked.

"Chanel." "Chanel." "Chanel." "Chanel."

Sherlock looked at Vicky hopefully, and the woman shook her head as she said apologetically: "Estée Lauder."

Sherlock shook his head, disappointed.

"Ideal man?" He asked, turning to face forward and happened to meet eyes with Tessa.

"George Clooney." She murmured dreamily.

Marie laughed from behind him as Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned: "Oh, no."

He turned to Gail who replied: "Home-loving."

"He'd have to like cuddling." Charlotte replied.

"Caring." Robyn said and Sherlock turned to the last woman, Vicky.

"Ten things." The woman listed. "One: someone who isn't competitive with other men."

Sherlock stared at the woman, frowning incredulously.

"Two: someone who isn't constantly trying to define himself by his masculinity…"

Sherlock stopped her right there. He sighed and then murmured thoughtfully: "There's a unifying factor. There has to be."

He frowned as he thought aloud: "None of you reported anything stolen."

He paused, and began to list: "Security guard, gardener, cook, maid, private nurse."

Sherlock realized: "He's romancing his way up a pecking order, somebody's pecking order. Come on, think _._ "

He ordered himself but added quickly as an idea popped into his mind.

"Unless..." His lips curled a little and he turned back to the women.

"Do you have a secret you've never told anyone?" He asked and all five women replied immediately: "No."

Sherlock smirked and he said triumphantly: "Gotcha."

"What do you mean?" John asked, suddenly appearing again, but Sherlock didn't mind this time as he explained: "Everyone has secrets, and they all replied too quickly."

He smiled excitedly.

"Gotta go." Gail suddenly said abruptly.

Sherlock looked at her in surprise as she turned and walked away, and Charlotte added: "See ya."

"No." Sherlock protested as each woman left.

"Bye-bye." Robyn said as she turned.

"No, wait." Sherlock began, but Vicky interrupted: "Sorry, sexy. Some secrets have to stay secret."

The woman winked and turned away as well.

"Enjoy the wedding." Tessa said in farewell.

"Yeah…" Sherlock groaned as she left, too. He closed his eyes and he was back in the flat.

"Why? Why," he slammed the last laptop with Tessa's message shut in agitation, "would he date all of those women and not return their calls?"

"You're missing the obvious, mate." John commented and Sherlock turned to him quickly.

"Am I?" He asked, confused.

"He's a man." John told him.

Sherlock muttered as he shut all the laptops irritably: "But why would he change his identity?"

John shrugged as he pointed out: "Maybe he's married."

Sherlock paused as he shut the last laptop. He straightened slowly as he realized John's words could be true.

"Ohh." He breathed.

* * *

 _Three days later- the Present_

"Married." Sherlock announced. "Obvious, really. Our mayfly man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity," John shook his head in exasperation, "and instead of endless nights in watching the telly or going to barbecues with awful dreadful boring people he couldn't stand, he used his wits, cleverness and powers of disguise to play the field."

Marie rolled her eyes.

"He was..." Sherlock began, but trailed off as he saw Marie's minute head shakes and then he glanced around the room to see everyone looking a little disappointed and uncomfortable.

"On second thoughts I _probably_ should have told you about the Elephant in the Room." Sherlock muttered thoughtfully. Mary and John snorted while Marie smiled, nodding at Sherlock to continue with the end of his speech.

Sherlock did as she suggested.

"However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me." Sherlock explained: "I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that's what made me special- quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of either of us," people leaned forward at that, curious as to what he had to say, " _I_ will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life."

Marie positively beamed as she saw the surprise on John's face. Sherlock continued: "Trust me on that, I should know. He's saved mine so many times, and in so many ways."

He turned to glance briefly at John who looked up at his friend with a grin. Sherlock lifted the phone as he said: "This blog is the story of two men and one woman, and their frankly ridiculous adventures."

People chuckled and Sherlock finished: "Of murder, mystery and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story. A bigger adventure."

Sherlock gestured at the two beside him, and the happy couple grinned. Sherlock reached for his glass, lifting it as he declared: "Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding."

Everybody took their champagne glasses and stood as Sherlock toasted: "Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is…"

Sherlock suddenly broke off, and Marie was concerned to see the smile slip off his face as the wedding photographer took photos of the toast, the last of the pictures for the day. It was as though with each click of the shutter, Sherlock was moving further away from them as some realization hit him.

Marie was alarmed as Sherlock's grasp on the glass loosened and the champagne flute went into free-fall. Sherlock didn't notice as he went to his mind palace.

* * *

 _In Sherlock's mind palace_

"What did you say?" He demanded as he stared at the image of Tessa, the woman still and preserved in the state they'd been right before they had all left.

"You said," Sherlock said slowly as he pointed at the woman, "'John Hamish Watson'. You said that."

He walked up to her as he almost accused: "You said, 'Hamish'."

Sherlock thought back to the night at the mayfly man's flat- or rather the dead man the mayfly man was impersonating's flat.

 _He'd cried, shaking off the landlord: "Whoa, whoa!"_

 _Tessa had said to the landlord reassuringly: "This is a famous detective. It's Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson."_

Sherlock demanded: "How did you know? How did you know his middle name?"

Sherlock turned away, facing back to the centre of the chamber as he frowned, trying to figure out what he'd missed. "He never tells anyone. He hates it."

 _He remembered when he'd walked in on John writing on his blog for the first time and seen the title._

 _"'_ _John H. Watson'?" He'd asked and John had just replied shortly: "Yep."_

 _That moment had sparked several attempts form Sherlock's side at guessing John's middle name._

 _"_ _Henry?" Sherlock tried at breakfast one day and John just replied shortly: "Shut up."_

 _"_ _Humphrey?" Sherlock tried another day, pausing in the middle of a case. John replied again: "_ Shut _up."_

 _"_ _Higgins?" Sherlock tried another day, calling to John as the man showered and John just replied flatly: "Go. Away."_

Sherlock murmured with a deep frown: "Took him years to confide in me."

 _Sherlock remembered when John had come back home to find Sherlock leaning against the doorframe._

 _"_ _That's my birth certificate." John sighed and Sherlock had replied with a smirk: "Yep."_

Sherlock commented as he continued to walk back towards the centre of the room: "And Marie and The Woman. They knew."

 _He recalled the time in his flat, right before he'd broken the code for Adler, before he'd known about Marie's real identity, even her real name. He and Irene had been in a staring match, which John had broken by abruptly piping up: "Hamish. John Hamish Watson. Just if you were looking for baby names."_

Sherlock continued slowly: "God knows where _she_ is; and Marie never told anyone, why would she? John's middle name isn't important enough to tell Moriarty, and then she joined our side officially later that night."

He paused and turned around to face Tessa. "There's only one time that name's been made public."

 _He recalled John's annoyance as he'd demanded: "Does it_ have _to be on the invitation?"_

 _Marie had looked at him amused from where she'd been typing the wedding invitations as John gestured at the title: 'Dr. John Hamish Watson & Miss Mary Elizabeth Morstan.'_

 _Mary had folded her arms as she pointed out: "It's your name. It's-"_

 _"_ _Funny" Sherlock said as Mary finished: "Traditional."_

 _John had glared, but he'd been overruled and Mary had fought a smile while Marie smirked and had the invitations printed onto the thick, beautifully decorated cards._


	12. Big Picture

*A/N Just to clarify: in this particular chapter, words in _italics_ are mostly things that occur inside Sherlock's mind palace; at the last part of the chapter, the _italicized_ words change back to describing recollections about the past

 _The Present- at the wedding_

The champagne glass was almost at the floor as Marie took a step forward, brows furrowed in concern. Sherlock was standing completely still, Tessa's words playing over and over in his mind: 'Enjoy the wedding.'

 _In his mind palace-_

 _"_ _Enjoy the wedding." Tessa said and Sherlock repeated: "The wedding."_

 _Sherlock pointed as he finally put the puzzle together._

 _"_ _You knew about the wedding; more importantly, you'd seen a wedding_ invitation _. Now barely a hundred people had seen that invitation."_

 _Sherlock glanced around at all the women in a loose circle around him._

 _"_ _The Mayfly Man only saw five women. For one person to be in both groups..." Sherlock shrugged as he acknowledged, "could be a coincidence."_

 _"_ _Oh, Sherlock." Mycroft's voice came from behind, where Marie had been earlier. Sherlock spun to look up at his older brother as the room emptied so that it was just the two brothers._

 _"_ _What do we say about coincidence?" Mycroft prompted from his place behind the podium, looking down expectantly at his little brother and Sherlock replied immediately: "The universe is rarely so lazy."_

 _"_ _So, the balance of probability is ...?" Mycroft asked and Sherlock replied quickly: "Someone went to great lengths to find out something about this wedding."_

 _"_ _What great lengths?" Mycroft pressured and Sherlock listed: "They lied. Assumed false identities."_

 _"_ _Which suggests ...?" Mycroft prompted and Sherlock answered, his eyes narrowing: "Criminal intent."_

 _"_ _Also suggests ...?" Mycroft prodded and Sherlock said shortly: "Intelligence, planning."_

 _"_ _Clearly." Mycroft said scornfully. He raised his eyebrows as he asked: "But more importantly ...?"_

 _"_ _The Mayfly Man." Sherlock breathed in understanding. "The Mayfly Man is ..._

"…Here today." Sherlock said aloud, returning mentally to the wedding reception, just as the champagne glass shattered at his feet.

"Ooh, sorry. I…" Sherlock paused, looking down at the broken glass, breathing heavily from his realization. He cleared his throat, trying to focus.

"Another glass, sir?" The master of ceremonies asked as he held out another flute filled with champagne, and Sherlock replied quickly as he accepted it: "Thank you, yes. Thank you, yes."

He turned back to the crowd but was distracted immediately.

 _"_ _Something is going to happen, right here." Mycroft warned._

Sherlock's lips folded tightly as he thought, but he tried to continue: "Now, where were we?"

The crowd looked around nervously, wondering what was going on while Marie's eyes were focused on Sherlock's. His were unfocused; he'd clearly had some shocking realization that had shaken him to the core, but his eyes as they flickered uneasily told her he had not yet figured out a counterplan.

 _"_ _Could be any second." Mycroft continued warningly. "You have control of the room."_

"Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up." Sherlock said as he lifted his glass, and everyone followed suit, looking anxiously at the detective.

"Very good. Thank you." Sherlock said with a tight smile.

 _"_ _Don't lose it." Mycroft ordered._

Sherlock's eyes flickered once more.

"And down again." Sherlock said distractedly, motioning with his hands for them to all sit. The guests all looked confused and began to murmur confusedly as they did as he said. Marie sat slowly, undecided if she should not raise the guests' alarm or if she should do as her gut was telling her and go to Sherlock.

Sherlock suddenly began speaking again as he placed his glass safely on the table: "Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech. Get off early, leave 'em laughing."

He paused for a moment before adding: "Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now..."

Sherlock suddenly leapt over the table. John started in surprise while Marie's mouth fell open. Sherlock just went on, rambling: "Part two. Part two is more action-based. I'm gonna... walk around," he explained unnecessarily as that was exactly what he was doing, "shake things up a bit."

"Who'd go to a wedding?" Sherlock continued as he looked around at all the guests and Marie's heart sank- that could not be good.

Sherlock went on: "That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?"

He'd reached the end of the reception hall, and he turned back to face the whole crowd as he said, trying to lighten the crowd's mood: "Well, everyone _._ Weddings are great! Love a wedding." He declared with a fake smile and Marie tensed even more.

"What's he doing?" Mary asked quietly and John replied under his breath: "Something's wrong."

Sherlock suddenly turned back, pointing at John as he exclaimed: "And John's great, too!"

John tried to smile, but he and Marie were exchanging uneasy glances as Sherlock walked back down through the room, saying distractedly: "Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface."

He rambled as he looked around at the cakes: "I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his... jumpers..." John frowned in confusion, "and he can cook. Does... a... thing... thing with peas... once."

Marie frowned too, trying to figure out what had set Sherlock off. Sherlock was saying: "Might not be peas. Might not be him. But he's got a great singing voice... or somebody does. Um…"

He trailed off.

"That's all Marie's…" John muttered, brows furrowed.

Sherlock suddenly snarled: "Too many, too many, too many, too many!"

As some of the guests gasped, Sherlock suddenly composed himself and said lightly: "Sorry. Too many jokes about John! Now, er..."

 _Sherlock was suddenly facing Mycroft as the older Holmes prompted: "Criminal intent."_

"Where was I?" Sherlock asked distractedly. "Ah, yes ..."

 _"_ _Extraordinary lengths." Mycroft hissed._

"Speech!" Sherlock declared, and Marie was concerned as Sherlock's voice shook. "Speech. Let's talk about ..."

 _"_ _All of which is suggestive of ...?" Mycroft demanded. Sherlock closed his eyes as he thought about the answer, which was-_

"...murder." Sherlock hissed. John hung his head in annoyance, while Mary winced.

Marie was too caught up in trying to find the cause behind what was wrong with Sherlock to really notice as the detective said quickly: "Sorry, did I say 'murder'? I meant to say 'marriage'. But, you know," John looked up, eyes narrowed, "they're quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it's over when one of them's dead _._ "

John sighed, hanging his head again while Sherlock rambled on: "In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though. Janine!"

He suddenly called and the woman looked up startled as Sherlock walked over to one of the guests and said: "What about this one? Acceptably hot? More importantly, his girlfriend's wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear, and hasn't bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket, or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he's going home alone."

Marie frowned thoughtfully, thinking back, while Sherlock added: "Also, he's a comics and sci-fi geek. They're always tremendously grateful, really put the hours in."

"Geoff, the gents." He suddenly said, and looked at Lestrade pointedly as he added when Lestrade didn't move: "The loos, now, please."

"It's Greg." Lestrade corrected automatically as he frowned at Sherlock, wondering why the man was acting even stranger than usual.

Sherlock just repeated: "The loos, please."

Lestrade's phone beeped as he asked: "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's your turn." Sherlock snapped, as Lestrade checked his phone.

Marie glanced down to see it was a text from Sherlock- he must've been typing it as he rambled about the geeky man- that read: 'Lock this place down.'

Marie's face fell; there was only one reason Sherlock would act this anxiously and send such an order. Lestrade meanwhile muttered as he got up to leave: "Yeah, actually, now you mention it..."

Marie pursed her lips, trying to trace Sherlock's thought pattern as Lestrade left while John called impatiently: "Sherlock, any chance of an end date for this speech? Gotta cut the cake."

Sherlock said delightedly: "Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, can't stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once, Vatican Cameos." He said pointedly and John immediately stiffened.

Mary asked quietly: "What did he say? What's that mean?"

He replied quietly: "Battle stations. Someone's gonna die."

"What?" Mary gasped, and John gripped her hand to steady her before she panicked. Marie's eyes had closed as she worked through what Sherlock had said the whole day, trying to find the trigger. Sherlock meanwhile paced at the end of the room frantically.

 _"_ _Narrow it down." Mycroft ordered._

Sherlock grit his teeth as he looked at all the guests, all of them pinned with the same question: 'Mayfly man?'

 _"_ _Narrow it down." Mycroft hissed._

Sherlock stopped walking, shaking his head a little as he twitched against his brother's words. Marie's eyes flew open as she realized what had set Sherlock off.

 _"_ _Narrow. It. Down." Mycroft snarled._

"No!" Sherlock suddenly shouted as he slapped himself in the face.

"No! Not you! Not you!" He yelled desperately and Marie stood up.

Sherlock's eyes focused on her.

"You _._ "

His eyes slid over to John who perked up immediately.

"And you. It's always you two. Marie Spencer and John Watson, you keep me right."

Sherlock strode over to their side of the room and Marie walked over to meet him while John stepped out from behind his table and met the pair.

"Mayfly man's here?" Marie asked under her breath and Sherlock nodded.

"What do I do?" John asked, and Sherlock replied determinedly: "Well, you've already done it. Don't solve the murder. Save the life."

Sherlock took a deep breath as he turned back to the crowd, saying lightly: "Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. Phew!"

The whole crowd was tense but Sherlock ignored it as he suggested: "Let's play a game."

Sherlock began to walk back slowly through the guests. John sat down slowly while Marie took Sherlock's seat stiffly, examining the room while her mind raced. Sherlock was in a similar state as his eyes narrowed and he said darkly: "Let's play Murder."

"Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson chided softly, but Sherlock ignored her as he said: "Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?"

He asked himself, but Mrs. Hudson retorted: "I think you're a popular choice at the moment, dear."

"If someone could move Mrs Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely." Sherlock said flatly, not even looking back at the elderly lady.

"More importantly," Sherlock turned back to face the room, "who could you only kill at a wedding?"

His eyes were narrowed while Marie's were unfocused as she worked through answering Sherlock's question. Sherlock continued: "Most people you can kill any old place."

Everyone in the room became pinned with a new question in Sherlock's mind: 'Target?'

"As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues." Sherlock continued abruptly. "Now John I'd poison."

Mary glanced at John in alarm while John froze.

"Sloppy eater, dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds that way- he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue."

Sherlock gestured to Lestrade's empty chair as he went on: "Lestrade's so easy to kill, it's a miracle no-one's succumbed to the temptation."

John frowned, glancing at Marie but she was too unfocused, lost in thought.

"I've got a pair of keys to my brother's house," Sherlock was saying, "I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him..." He snarled the words as he mimed the action a little too realistically before he added lightly: "If, if the whim arose."

"He's pissed, isn't he?" Tom asked quietly and Molly stabbed his hand with her fork.

"Ow!" He protested. Sherlock just went on: "Marie's the only one who you wouldn't be able to kill without a deeply elaborate strategy. Even then, chances of success are minimal, so I've never bothered to even attempt to plan it."

"Are you sure that wasn't because of something else?" John muttered under his breath.

Marie's eyes suddenly returned to focus, sharpening as she zoomed in on one person in the crowd. Sherlock didn't notice as he asked again: "So, once again, who could you only kill here?"

Marie turned her eyes to Sherlock, trying to hint at him as he continued: "Clearly it's a rare opportunity, so it's someone who doesn't get out much. Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception."

"Has to be a unique opportunity." Marie piped up and Sherlock's eyes met hers as he agreed: "And since killing someone in public is difficult, killing them in private isn't an option."

Marie's eyes flicked to the side and Sherlock followed it as he went on: "Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then. Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security…" he realized what he was saying just as he saw who Marie had pointed out. "Possibly someone under threat."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he remembered during the wedding planning:

 _"_ _Major James Sholto. Who he?" Sherlock had asked._

 _"_ _I don't think he's coming." Mary had replied but John had said emphatically: "He'll be there."_

And another memory _\- when John had greeted his ex-commander. "Where are you living these days?" John had asked and Sholto had shrugged as he replied: "Oh, way out in the middle of nowhere."_

And finally _, John's exact words as he and Sherlock had sat on the park bench, watching Bainbridge: "The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you."_

"Ooh!" Sherlock murmured, before saying aloud as he grabbed a pen and a random name card from the nearby table: "A recluse. Small household staff."

 _"_ _Job?" Sherlock had asked the five women._

 _The replies: "Gardener." "Cook." "Private nurse." "Maid."_

"High turnover for additional security." Sherlock added as he finished writing on the paper, folding it.

 _"_ _I do security work." The brunette woman, Robyn, had said._

"Probably all signed confidentiality agreements." Sherlock commented as he dropped the paper slyly in front of Sholto.

 _"_ _Do you have a secret you've never told anyone?" Sherlock had asked and all five women had answered immediately: "No."_

Sherlock continued: "There is another question that remains, however," Marie watched Sholto check the paper that she knew would tell him he was the target, "a big one, a huge one. How would you do it? How would you kill someone in public?"

Marie watched as Sholto's face whitened. Sherlock was rambling: "There has to be a way. This has been planned."

The little boy, Archie, suddenly stood up, crying excitedly: "Mr Holmes! Mr Holmes!"

Sherlock turned to him expectantly as he said cheerily: "Oh, hello again, Archie. What's your theory? Get this right and there's a headless nun in it for you."

If it had been any other situation, Marie would've rolled her eyes or hit Sherlock's head. At this moment, though, she could do neither as the boy said eagerly: "The invisible man could do it."

Marie's blood ran cold, while Sherlock asked confusedly: "The who, the what, the why, the when, the where?"

"The invisible man with the invisible knife." Archie explained, and Sholto's eyes widened as Archie finished: "The one who tried to kill the Guardsman."

Sherlock gasped, realizing the child was right. He glanced at Marie to see her face white and knew she agreed. Both were thinking the same thing, and in a turn of irony, Sherlock's words were ringing true. There was no difference between a wedding and a murder.

Sherlock remembered his wall with all the details for the wedding. The invitation stuck to the right- the very invitation that had told their murderer where Sholto would be today. The venue planning laid out on the right of the wall- also disclosed in the invitation- that was a public space, easily searched up.

The plan for the wedding at the top, but also required for the murder- the stalker following Bainbridge for months ahead of time. The listing with the rehearsal time for the musicians- and the rehearsal for the murder with Bainbridge's near death experience.

Marie tensed as she saw Sholto stand and move out of the venue. Sherlock was too staggered by his latest realization to notice as he murmured: "Oh, not just planned. Planned and rehearsed."

He shook his head, and noticed just as Sholto opened the door and left.

Sherlock made a quick decision and walked determinedly back to the front of the room, grabbing Marie's unattended champagne glass as he said: "Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interlude."

He skid to a stop, spinning around and raising his glass as he toasted: "The bride and groom!"

The guests all stood and repeated, sounding confused: "The bride and groom."

Even before they had all finished, Sherlock spun around and whispered in a rush to John: "Major Sholto's going to be murdered. I don't know how or by whom, but it's going to happen."

John's mouth fell open but Sherlock had already turned to run out the door, Marie right behind him.

"'Scuse me, coming through! Consulting!" Sherlock called as he avoided running into people in his quest to reach the door.

But when they got there, Marie went in the opposite direction, heading for the front doors. Sherlock glanced back at her, calling: "Where're you going?"

"To stop the murderer. You do what you do best Sherlock, solving mysteries. I'll do what I do best, and track our murderer." She called back, disappearing out the door.

Sherlock nodded- he didn't have time to try figure out who the murderer was, only how to save Sholto, so it was best for them to split up. But as John joined him and the pair turned to head into the hotel, Sherlock paused.

He groaned: "I should've asked if she remembered which room he's in."

John looked at Sherlock incredulously as the younger man frowned, searching his mind for the answer.

 _"_ How can you not remember which room? You remember everything." John demanded and Sherlock snapped back: "I have to delete something!"

Suddenly Mary appeared, running between them as she cried: "207!"

The men didn't question it, immediately dashing up the stairs. John grabbed Mary, holding her hand and helping her run in her heels and dress while Sherlock dashed ahead, heading for the Major's room before it was too late.


	13. Revelations

"Major Sholto?" Sherlock shouted as he knocked on the man's hotel room door.

"Major Sholto!" He tried again, as he jiggled the doorknob but it was locked firmly.

"Major Sholto!" Sherlock shouted as John and Mary joined him.

Sholto called calmly from inside his room: "If someone's about to make an attempt on my life, it won't be the first time. I'm ready."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he stepped away from the door, flexing his hand absently as it stung. John moved over to the door, calling: "Major, let us in."

"Kick the door down." Mary suggested but Sholto warned: "I really wouldn't. I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes."

Sherlock walked back to the door as he said sharply: "You're not safe in there. Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him."

"'The invisible man with the invisible knife'." Sholto quoted and Sherlock admitted: "I don't know how he does it, so I can't stop him, and that means he'll do it again."

"Solve it, then." Sholto ordered and Sherlock paused, confused.

"I– I'm sorry?" He asked incredulously and Sholto called, somewhat sarcastically: "You're the famous Mr Holmes. Solve the case. On you go. Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door."

Sherlock began to pace, thinking desperately while John called through the door desperately: "Please, this is no time for games. Just let us in! You're in danger!"

"So are you, so long as you're here." Sholto pointed out and Mary watched anxiously as Sherlock paced.

Sholto continued sincerely: "Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I _really_ don't approve of collateral damage."

"Solve it." Mary suddenly said to Sherlock who paused in his pacing to look at her questioningly.

"Sorry?" He asked and Mary elaborated: "Solve it, and he'll open the door, like he said."

Sherlock looked at her in disbelief as he demanded: "If I couldn't solve it before, how can I solve it now?"

"Because it matters now. That's how Marie figured it out so quickly too, isn't it?" Mary said emphatically and Sherlock scoffed: "What are you talking about?"

He turned to John as he snapped: "What's she talking about? Get your wife under control."

"She's right." John said tightly and Sherlock barked: "Oh, you've changed!"

John said firmly: "No, she is _._ Shut up." He snapped angrily. "You are not a puzzle-solver, you never have been. You're a drama queen. Now, there is a man in there about to die. 'The game is on.' Solve it!"

Sherlock looked torn between fury and desperation, but suddenly his eyes unfocused as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. He pictured Bainbridge's uniform, and then Sholto's uniform- the common factor being the tight belt that cinched in their waists.

Sherlock gasped and he kissed Mary's forehead gratefully.

"Though, in fairness, he's a drama queen too." Sherlock added as he pointed at John and Mary replied: "Yeah, I know."

John looked confused but Sherlock was back to focusing on the case as he turned to the door and called: "Major Sholto, no-one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago."

There was a pause and then Sholto asked in disbelief: "What did you say?"

"Don't take off your belt." Sherlock ordered mysteriously, and Sholto repeated: "My belt?"

Sherlock muttered: "His belt, yes."

He turned to John as he explained rapidly: "Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt. Tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn't even feel it."

Sherlock turned back to the door as John nodded in understanding. John murmured: "The-the belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight..."

"Exactly." Sherlock interjected and John continued in shock: "... and when you took it off..."

"Delayed action stabbing." Sherlock finished. "All the time in the world to create an alibi."

He leaned against the door and called worriedly: "Major Sholto?"

Sholto snorted as he muttered: "So, I was to be killed by my uniform. How appropriate."

The three waited worriedly as there was no movement towards the door from th inside. Mary called worriedly: "He solved the case, Major. You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal."

Sholto continued, ignoring them: "I'm not even supposed to _have_ this any more. They gave me special dispensation to keep it."

The three exchanged concerned glances while Sholto went on: "I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose, given the circumstances, I don't have to. When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue."

John snapped: "Whatever you're doing in there, James, stop it, right now. I will kick this door down."

Sholto ignored him as he called: "Mr Holmes, you and I are similar, I think."

John turned away from the door in exasperation while Sherlock moved towards it, answering: "Yes, I think we are."

"There's a proper time to die, isn't there?" Sholto questioned and Sherlock agreed: "Of course there is."

"And one should embrace it when it comes, like a soldier." Sholto said bravely and Sherlock snapped back: "Of course one should, but not at John's wedding!"

He paused and then added pointedly: "We wouldn't do that, would we, you and me? We would never do that to John Watson."

There was silence from inside as Sherlock stepped away from the door, and John moved to the door.

"I'm gonna break it down." John said determinedly, but Mary stopped him quickly as she said: "No, wait, wait, you won't have to."

"Hmm?" John asked but it was answered as the door clicked open and Sholto stood before them sheepishly. He took a deep breath.

"I believe I am in need of medical attention." He murmured.

Sherlock grinned and Mary smiled while John looked briefly surprised and then determined.

"I believe I am your doctor." He said and he walked into the room. Mary followed after sending a smile at Sherlock.

He paused as his phone beeped and he glanced down to check the message. He grinned as he read Marie's words, sent through an unknown number, before he followed the others into Sholto's hotel room.

* * *

Evening had already fallen and the rest of the guests were mingling in the reception hall-turned- dance floor. Sherlock and Janine practiced once in a side room, and Sherlock shrugged as they finished: "Ahh, pretty good."

"Ooh!" Janine breathed in relief and Sherlock added: "Just ... hold your nerve on your turning."

"Why do we have to rehearse?" Janine asked and Sherlock replied flatly: "Because we are about to dance together in public, and your skills are appalling."

"Well, you're a good teacher." Janine replied flirtatiously and Sherlock just hummed.

She added: "And you're a brilliant dancer."

He raised a brow, glancing at the woman before he revealed: "I love dancing. I've always loved it."

"Seriously?" She asked in surprise and Sherlock nodded.

He explained: "Never really comes up in crime work but, um, you know, I live in hope of the right case."

Janine looked him over as she commented: "I wish you weren't ... whatever it is you are."

Sherlock raised a brow as he replied with a smirk: "I know."

Before he could add anything about Marie, John called: "Well, glad to see you've pulled, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding."

He joked as he playfully hit Sherlock's shoulder.

"One murder, one nearly murderer." He corrected before saying to Janine: "Loves to exaggerate. You should try living with him."

The door opened and Lestrade walked in as he called: "Sherlock? Got a delivery for you from someone called 'V'."

They all raised a confused brow as Lestrade dragged in the photographer from the wedding. The man was tied up and had, according to Lestrade, arrived in a box with a bow and a note signed 'V'. Even now, he looked confused as to what had happened.

Lestrade asked: "I don't know what, but I'm guessing you do?"

He turned to Sherlock who nodded as he stared at the man. He explained to the others: "Jonathan Small, today's substitute wedding photographer, known to us as the mayfly man."

John started, surprised but Sherlock continued: "His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Jonny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed... an invitation to a wedding. The one time Sholto would have to be out in public. So, he made his plan, and rehearsed the murder, making sure of every last detail."

"Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac." Sherlock finished, and then tossed his phone, which had Marie's text, to Lestrade.

"Everything you need's on that. You probably ought to... arrest him or something." He added as he looked down at the strung up man.

"Wait, but who's 'V'?" Lestrade asked, confused and Sherlock sighed.

John said quickly: "It's one of Mycroft's people- we've met them before."

He then spotted Mary as she wandered around, looking for them. Mary spotted him as he saw her.

"Come on, quick!" She said, coming over and grabbing John's arm, Marie right behind her.

Sherlock's eyes held suppressed mirth but it disappeared as Small piped up: "It's not me you should be arresting, Mr Holmes."

"Oh, I don't do the arresting, I just farm that out." Sherlock retorted giving the man a tight smile.

Small said monotonously: "Sholto, he's the killer, not me."

Sherlock and Marie's eyes narrowed.

"I should have killed him quicker." Small whispered as he scoffed. John's face had set in an angry mask while Mary looked between them all in alarm.

"I shouldn't have tried to be clever." Small hissed.

Sherlock and Marie replied flatly: "You should have driven faster."

The others looked at them in surprise but Marie had turned and walked off, back into the reception room. Sherlock politely offered his arm to Janine, gesturing for John and Mary to follow so that they could make the customary entrance into the reception. John led Mary off, none of them looking back at Small.

Lestrade dithered on his feet for a moment, before glancing at Small and muttering: "Right..."

* * *

Sherlock was playing the waltz he'd been composing while John and Mary took the floor in the customary opening dance. The crowd all beamed as they watched the couple who couldn't stop smiling at one another. Marie's eyes were soft as she watched her best friend with the woman he loved, and silently prayed for their happiness.

She watched amusedly as Sherlock's piece started to end; John was doing extremely well in the waltz, even managing to dip Mary as the final note played. Mary gasped: "Really?"

The crowd awed while the couple laughed and John kissed his bride. As John and Mary stood again, John's arm wrapped around Mary firmly, Sherlock said the final words of the evening, finishing his duties as best man.

"Ladies and gentlemen, just, er, one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologies for earlier. A crisis arose and was dealt with."

He glanced at Marie furtively and she smiled at him grimly.

Sherlock turned back to John and Mary as he continued: "More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again."

John and Mary's faces fell just a tiny bit and John glanced at Marie worriedly- she, however, didn't seem to be affected so he turned back to Sherlock as his friend took a deep breath.

"So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you."

Marie raised her brow as Sherlock quickly corrected: "Er, I'm sorry, I mean, I mean two of you. All two of you. Both of you, in fact. I've just miscounted."

John and Mary paused, frowning confusedly, but Sherlock continued: "Anyway, it's time for dancing. Play the music again, please, thank you."

As the music began, Sherlock called nervously: "Okay, everybody, just dance. Don't be shy! Dancing, please!"

As everyone moved onto the dance floor, he murmured: "Very good!"

Marie joined them as Sherlock walked up to John and Mary and murmured: "Sorry, that was one more deduction than I was really expecting."

"'Deduction'?" Mary interjected with a frown.

"Increased appetite." Sherlock began, and Mary remembered how she'd been scarfing down the nibbles earlier.

"Change of taste perception." Sherlock continued and Mary remembered the wine she'd chosen for today, and how it tasted awful for some reason now.

Marie chimed in: "You were sick this morning. You assumed it was just wedding nerves."

Mary stared at the brunette woman, and Sherlock interjected: "You got angry with me when I mentioned it to you."

Mary was looking aghast while John looked confusedly between his three friends.

"All the signs are there." Sherlock said pointedly and Mary demanded anxiously: "'The signs'?"

Marie smiled while Sherlock answered: "The signs of three."

He glanced down at Mary's stomach and Mary breathed: "What?"

"Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test." Sherlock explained and John groaned, finally understanding.

"W..." Sherlock mumbled, searching for something to say as Mary's face broke into the happiest and brightest smile a woman could wear.

"Th... the statistics for the first trimester are-" Sherlock began and John cut in sharply: "Shut up."

Sherlock paused while Marie laughed, reaching over to hug her boyfriend's arm.

"Just... shut up." John repeated, unable to cope with the shock.

"Sorry." Sherlock replied contritely.

Marie became concerned as Mary's face became pale and she became visibly more anxious, while John was asking no-one in particular: "How did he notice before me? I'm a bloody doctor."

"It's your day off." Sherlock excused and John retorted: "It's your day off!"

"Stop-stop panicking." Sherlock ordered, also sounding nervous and John snapped: "I'm not panicking."

"I'm pregnant– I'm panicking." Mary said, starting to hyperventilate.

Marie quickly let go of Sherlock to wrap her arms around her friend, helping her steady her breathing and calming down while Sherlock ordered both newly weds: "Don't panic. None of you panic. Absolutely no reason to panic."

"Oh, and you'd know, of course?" John demanded and Sherlock replied easily: "Yes, I would."

At that John's mouth fell open while Mary's eyes widened. Both Marie and Sherlock were confused until the blond couple turned to stare at Marie, John unable to stop himself from dropping his eyes to her stomach. Marie rolled her eyes, punching John as Sherlock belatedly understood.

"No, of course not like that." He snapped at the blond couple.

John looked at him sheepishly, while Mary looked apologetically at Marie. The brunette laughed and hugged her friend, glad she'd at least calmed down now.

John paused.

"So, how did you mean then?" He demanded and Sherlock grinned as he replied: "You're already the best parents in the world. Look at all the practice you've had."

"What practice?" John asked, frowning in confusion and Sherlock looked away as he replied: "Well, you're hardly gonna need me around now that you've got a real baby on the way."

He glanced at them, cracking up at their expressions.

John also began to laugh, and he grabbed his friend's shoulder as the two men laughed. Mary and Marie grinned, and they hugged tightly. Marie let her friend go, moving back to Sherlock's side as John turned to Mary and asked: "You all right?"

"Yeah." Mary replied softly, and they all stood exchanging smiles. Sherlock suddenly looked a little uneasy as Marie leant against him and he saw John glance at the brunette woman with a slightly pensive look. As he took in John's expression, Sherlock had an epiphany moment.

 _Oh…_ Not wanting John to notice, Sherlock suddenly blurted out: "Dance."

"Mm?" John asked, turning to his friend questioningly.

Sherlock explained: "Both of you, now, go dance. We can't just stand here. People will wonder what we're talking about."

"Right." John muttered and Mary smiled.

She reached out to hug Marie one more time before she sniffled a little against happy tears as she took John's hand and ordered: "Come on, husband. Let's go."

"This isn't a waltz, is it?" John asked worriedly, and Mary laughed: "No."

Sherlock chimed in: "Don't worry, Mary, I have been tutoring him."

"He did, you know." John added. "Baker Street, behind closed curtains. Mrs Hudson came in one time. Don't know how those rumours started."

The blond couple laughed as they moved away and Sherlock pulled Marie with him towards the doors. She looked at him in surprise, but went willingly as they stepped out into the balcony. She breathed in the fresh air, leaning onto the porch railings contently.

Sherlock watched her pensively and she finally asked, without turning around: "Alright, what is it?"

"What's what?" Sherlock asked automatically, but Marie just turned around and faced him as she said pointedly: "I'm not an idiot. You've been giving me funny looks since we broke it to Mary that she was pregnant."

He paused and said slowly: "Marie…"

When he just trailed off, she lifted a brow.

"Yes?" She asked, and he asked abruptly: "Did you ever dream about getting married?"

She looked at him in surprise.

"What?" She asked in shock, unable to believe what she'd heard. This, coming from the man who'd spent all day, _during_ his friend's wedding, making disparaging remarks about matrimony.

Sherlock explained, watching her reactions like a hawk: "It's just, I remember reading somewhere that little girls often dream about their weddings, and that it is often the day women express as the happiest in their lives…"

Marie began to laugh and Sherlock paused. She shook her head as she said: "Sherlock, that would be for normal people. Maybe I did when I was little, but I don't remember. I spent the majority of my years taught to believe love was essentially the largest evil in the world, remember? Well, besides Moriarty."

She laughed. Sherlock cracked a smile, but she noticed it didn't reach his eyes. She looked at him questioningly as she asked softly: "Sherlock, what's really wrong?"

He stared at her, debating what to say, while she thought back to when he began to act strangely. It hit her and her face dropped.

"Oh…" She murmured and Sherlock quickly tugged her chin up as she began to lower it, trying to hide her eyes. She looked up at him and Sherlock panicked as he read a level of pain he hadn't seen in her eyes before.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He apologized and her lips quirked a little as she watched him panic.

"Was it something I said?" He asked worriedly and she laughed a little. It caught in her throat and Sherlock looked vaguely alarmed but she shook her head, calming him as she drew a hand over his, cupping his hand on her face.

"No, Sherlock. It's just…" She sighed, and he frowned.

He disliked when she was upset, but Marie continued and Sherlock listened carefully: "Marriage and babies and families… it was something so far from my reach that, really, I never thought about it. Not even when John and Mary were getting married." She admitted quietly and Sherlock's lips curved down.

While he had chosen to live a solitary life, especially since dismissing emotions came more naturally for him, he realized Marie had been forced to change. He'd known- how could he not- that she was inherently a much warmer and empathetic person than he was, but he often forgot just how much that part of her had been beaten out by Moriarty.

And until now, he hadn't really noticed that she often removed herself from 'normal people'. Perhaps it was because he classified her separately, as someone special, but Sherlock hadn't realized until this moment that Marie considered herself as below humanity.

And that hurt him. He often considered himself superior due to his intellect (as John often pointed out irritably) and he naturally placed Marie up there beside him. But it appeared she considered herself unworthy, most likely because of the tainted part of her history.

Marie's eyes had returned to the floor and so Sherlock bent down to meet her eye level. As her green eyes met his blue ones, Sherlock murmured gently: "Marie, don't ever think yourself as any less than you are. To me, you are above all- definitely better than normal people, better than me and my hard brother," she blinked in surprise, but he wasn't done, "and better, even, than John."

"You are a beautiful, kind, compassionate, and clever," he added, placing emphasis on the word and causing her to chuckle a little, "woman, who happened to have the greatest misfortune of meeting one of the world's lowest creatures. If there was ever anything I could wish for, it would be that you never had to meet him and be forced to live with so many regrets."

Her eyes dimmed as she gazed at him, and Sherlock added as an afterthought: "Although then we would never have met, and I don't think I could bear to imagine a life without you in it anymore."

She laughed, and he brightened to see the light back in her eyes. She shook her head a little as she murmured: "Sherlock Holmes, you never cease to amaze me."

He looked a little confused as he replied: "Thank you?"

He phrased it as a question and Marie grinned.

"For a so-called sociopath, you're really good at bringing out the heart inside people." She commented and Sherlock frowned.

"I don't think I'm really following you." He admitted and Marie grinned as she leaned in and kissed Sherlock's cheek gently.

"I'm saying, Sherlock, thank you." She whispered.

His face relaxed, and he gazed at her lovingly as he murmured: "Any time, my Marie."

She smiled at that but she paused. She became serious as she said: "Sherlock."

"Hmm?" He asked and she looked him in the eye as she said: "I don't need marriage. I just want you, and it's good enough for me to have you with me. So don't feel the need to do anything that you don't care for. My happiness is having you by my side, and knowing you love me. That alone, means far more to me than some ceremony or piece of paper ever will."

Sherlock smiled at that. He leaned in, capturing Marie's lips with his. They kissed for a while before they broke away, both leaning against the railings and staring up at the stars. Marie leant her head on Sherlock's shoulder while he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to him.

"You know," Marie began thoughtfully, "tonight was full of so many revelations, wasn't it? Two previously unsolved cases put to rest."

Something about her words clicked another piece of a puzzle in Sherlock's mind. Marie continued obliviously: "It makes you wonder if there really was something about the purity of union and all that- although it could just be John now that I think of it."

She paused as Sherlock's shoulders tensed and she glanced back at him.

"What is it?" She asked, and when she saw his unfocused eyes she turned to face him completely. "Sherlock, what is it?"

"Marie, do you trust me?" He asked, his eyes wide and she frowned.

"The last time you asked me that, we were separated for two years." She pointed out. He looked down at her, no sign of amusement in his eyes.

"Do you trust me?" He repeated and she exhaled sharply.

"Always." She replied and his eyes bore into hers.

"Then I'm going to need you to trust me on what I say next."


	14. Changes

John bolted upright in his bed as there was a knock on his front door. In his mind, he heard Sherlock say: "The game is on."

He could picture both the detective and Marie, their eyes bright with expectation and anticipation. His heart pounded with the leftover adrenaline from his dream- he'd been remembering some of the early days with Sherlock.

He was startled out of his thoughts as the banging on his front door continued, and he quickly got up, grabbing a robe as he walked over to his door, taking a deep breath as he swung it open. He blinked in shock as a tearful woman stood before him, also still in her dressing gown.

"I know it's early." The woman said through suppressed sobs. "Really, I'm sorry."

She started to sob uncontrollably again and John could only stare in confusion.

"Is that Kate?" Mary asked from behind him as the blonde threw on her dressing gown and peered blearily at the front door.

"Y-yeah, it's Kate." John replied, still standing at the door, and he continued to stare at the woman in confusion.

"Going to invite her in?" Mary asked, hinting at him and John broke out of his shock at last as he stuttered: "Er, sorry, yes. D-d'you wanna come in, Kate?"

The sobbing woman stepped inside, and John was still puzzled as he shut the door behind their neighbour while Mary said soothingly: "Hey..."

She hugged the woman and settled her on the sofa, listening to the woman's story as John made them hot cups of tea.

"It's all right." Mary soothed as she rubbed Kate's back, the woman unable to stop her sobs.

John walked over, setting the mugs of tea down before the women and murmuring: "There you go."

"It's Isaac." Mary explained, and John replied: "Ah, your husband."

"Son." Mary corrected, looking at John pointedly.

"Son, yeah." John quickly corrected.

Kate's sobs finally died a little as she told them: "He's gone missing again. Didn't come home last night."

Her voice broke a little and Mary sighed, saying sympathetically: "The usual."

"He's the drugs one, yeah?" John asked.

Kate began sobbing again, and Mary stared at John in disbelief before saying flatly: "Er, yeah, nicely put, John."

"Well, is it Sherlock Holmes you want?" John asked the woman, still confused as to why she was here. "Because I've not seen him in ages."

"About a month." Mary said in exasperation, and Kate looked between the couple in confusion.

"Who's Sherlock Holmes?" She asked and Mary chimed in, looking at John pointedly: "See? That does happen."

Kate explained in a shaky voice: "There's a– a place they all go to, him and his... friends." She said the word like it was a swear word. "They all... do whatever they do... shoot up, whatever you call it." She said in a breaking voice.

"Where is he?" John asked suddenly and Kate looked up in confusion as she replied: "It's a house. It's a dump. I mean, it's practically falling down."

"No, the address." John interrupted, and Mary looked at him in surprise. John just looked at Kate as he asked firmly: "Where, exactly?"

* * *

"Seriously?" Mary asked as she followed John down their front steps, and John replied: "Why not? She's not going to the police. Someone's got to get him."

He unlocked the car and walked towards it as Mary asked pointedly: "Why you?"

"Being neighbourly." John replied, and Mary retorted with raised hands: "Since when?"

"Since now. Since this exact minute." John replied shortly as he opened his car door and Mary asked sceptically as she gestured: "Why are you being so ...?"

"What?" John asked, and Mary shrugged: "I dunno. What's the matter with you?"

John shouted defensively: "There is nothing the matter with me! Imagine I said that without shouting." He added at the end and Mary snorted: "I'm trying."

The blonde woman strode towards the car as well, and John protested: "No, you can't come. You're pregnant."

"You can't go. I'm pregnant." She retorted as she climbed into the front seat. John frowned, but decided not to answer as he also got in and drove away.

* * *

After they'd arrived, John walked over to the car boot, pulling out a metal lever before shutting the boot firmly. As he walked passed, Mary laughed a little as she asked: "What is that?"

She pointed at the thing John as carrying and he glanced down at it.

"It's a tyre lever." He answered as though it was obvious as he tucked it into his pants and Mary added incredulously: "Why?"

"'Cause there were loads of smackheads in there, and one of them might need help with a tyre." John replied sarcastically. "If there's any trouble, just go. I'll be fine."

He turned and began walking away, when Mary called after him, getting out of the car: "Wait, John, John, John, John."

He turned and she smirked from where she stood by the open car door.

"It is a tiny bit sexy." She smiled, and John replied with as straight a face as he could manage: "Yeah, I know."

John turned back to the house, walking swiftly over to the deprecate house.

"Hello?" He called as he banged on the front door loudly, ignoring the faded 'Private Property. Keep out' sign. The door creaked open to reveal a thin man with dirty blond hair, a swallow face and deep, dark circles under his eyes peering out from under the hood of his jacket.

"What d'you want?" The man asked suspiciously and John just pushed past firmly as he said: "'Scuse me."

He strode inside boldly, and the man called back to him indignantly: "Hey, you can't come in 'ere!"

John didn't even look back, glancing through the various rooms as he called: "I'm looking for a friend. A very specific friend, I'm not just browsing."

John turned back to the other man as he said sharply: "You've gotta go. No-one's allowed 'ere."

John ignored him as he asked: "Isaac Whitney. You seen him?"

The man just scowled at him as he fished out a knife from his jacket pocket. John said sarcastically: "I'm asking you if you've seen Isaac Whitney, and now you're showing me a knife. Is it a clue?"

The man jerked his hand to the door, gesturing for John to get out. John pretended not to understand as he mocked: "Are you doing a mime?"

"Go. Or I'll cut you." The man said warningly, and John pointed out: "Ooh, not from there. Let me help."

He strode back to the other man, and as the man's hand quivered he said firmly: "Now, concentrate. Isaac Whitney."

"Okay, you asked for it." The man said darkly, but John just rolled his eyes, shoving the other man's hand away, hitting him once and twisting his arm to make him drop the knife, and then kicking out the man's legs from under him, forcing him to land on his behind.

As the man groaned in pain, leaning against the wall, John picked up the dropped knife and asked with some humour: "Right. Are you concentrating yet?"

"You broke my arm!" The man moaned and John sighed: "No, I sprained it."

"It feels squishy. Is it supposed to feel squishy? Feel that!" The man demanded and John felt it just to oblige the man as he replied: "Yeah, it's a sprain. I'm a doctor, I know how to sprain people. Now where is Isaac Whitney?"

"I don't know!" The man whimpered and John gave him a stern look. The man suggested: "Maybe upstairs?"

John finally nodded, saying as he patted the man's knee: "There you go. Wasn't that easy?"

"No. It's really sore." The man grumbled, and as John walked over to the stairs, he added bitterly: "You're mental, you are."

"No, Just used to a better class of criminal." John replied lightly as he climbed the stairs quickly. He could hear someone coughing and as he walked into the first large room on the second floor, he found himself looking at a group of people, all lining the walls as they lay in half-drugged states.

"Isaac?" He called, walking into the room carefully. "Isaac Whitney?"

As he walked along one of the walls, closer to the people lying around he whispered again: "Isaac?"

Finally, there was a response as one of the boys lifted his hand dazedly. John quickly walked over to the boy lying on one of the beds, murmuring: "Hello, mate. Sit up for me? Sit up."

He helped the boy sit up, checking the boy's eyes as his eyes rolled just slightly. The boy was unable to focus as he asked dully: "Dr Watson?"

"Yep." John replied as he checked the boy's vitals, and the boy asked in that same drugged tone: "Where am I?"

"The arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth." John muttered, and added as he tried to get the boy to focus: "Look at me."

"Have you come for me?" The boy mumbled, barely able to speak through his haze as he tried to focus his eyes on the doctor.

"Do you think I know a lot of people here?" John retorted.

The boy smirked stupidly at that and John patted him a little as he checked: "Hey, all right?"

He froze as a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

"Ah, hello, John. Didn't expect to see you here."

John turned numbly, staring at a man dressed in a dirty hoodie, his face unshaven and hair clearly not washed in days.

"Did you come for me, too?" Sherlock Holmes asked, and John could only stare in a mix of disbelief and fury.

* * *

"Hallo, Isaac." Mary greeted as the boy came up to the car.

The boy called blearily as he walked up to the back door of the car: "Mrs Watson, can I, can I get in, please?"

"Yes, of course," Mary said as she indicated for him to climb in, "get in."

"Where's John?" She added as she saw no further movement from the front doors.

"They're 'avin' a fight." Isaac mumbled, staggering a little as he climbed into the car.

Mary looked at him in disbelief as she asked: "Who is?"

Her question was answered the next second as one of the side doors burst open and Sherlock shouted angrily and in exasperation: "For God's sakes, John! I'm on a case!"

John followed the other man out the door, and as the pair walked down the fire escape stairs John said incredulously: "A month, that's all it took. One."

"I'm working." Sherlock retorted as he jumped the rest of the way down, jumping onto the large bins as he walked down towards the road.

John followed as his voice became increasingly louder and angrier: "Sherlock Holmes in a drug den! How's that gonna look?"

"I'm undercover." Sherlock repeated, and John shouted sceptically: "No you're not!"

"Well, I'm not now!" Sherlock shouted in a mix of drugged haze, anger and exasperation.

Mary drove up to the pair, snapping shortly: "In _._ Both of you, quickly _._ "

As John climbed into the front passenger seat and Sherlock moved to open the back door, the man John had injured earlier came running up. Mary sighed irritably as she saw the man, who asked: "Please. Can I come? I think I've got a broken arm."

"No. Go away." Mary said flatly, but John muttered: "No, let him."

Mary turned to her husband incredulously as she demanded: "Why?"

John ignored her as he called to the man: "Yeah, just get in. It's a sprain."

Mary sighed, her grip on the steering wheel tightening as she asked, annoyed: "Anyone else? I mean, we're taking everybody home, are we?"

John sighed tiredly as the man climbed in after Sherlock, forcing Sherlock into the middle seat. He nodded at the detective as he asked: "All right, Shezza?"

"'Shezza'?" John asked as he turned around to look at his friend, and Sherlock retorted as he pointed out: "I was undercover."

Mary glanced at him through the rear-view mirror as she asked amusedly: "Seriously, 'Shezza,' though?! "

Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance while John said firmly: "We're not going home. We're going to Bart's. I'm calling Molly."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone as Mary asked in disbelief: "Why?"

"Because Sherlock Holmes," John said as he turned to glare at the man in question, "needs to pee in a jar."

He turned back to the front, Mary sighed and Sherlock rolled his eyes as Mary drove them away.

* * *

As Molly finished off her test, she pulled off her rubber gloves with a sharp snap.

"Well? Is he clean?" John asked impatiently, and Molly turned to him.

"Clean?" She asked sarcastically. John sighed heavily as Molly walked over to stand right before Sherlock.

She stood before the dark-haired man and slapped him hard across the face. Everyone looked up at the sharp sound- John, Isaac, the strange man and Mary from where she'd been tending to the unknown man's arm. As Sherlock just stood numbly, Molly slapped him again, just as hard.

John grimaced, but when Sherlock showed no reaction, she slapped his other cheek, this time causing his head to turn from the force. As Sherlock grimaced and groaned softly in pain, she snapped with cold fury: "How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with? And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you're sorry."

As Molly stood glaring up at him, Sherlock gripped his cheek tenderly as he said flatly: "Sorry your engagement's over. Though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."

He massaged his jaw as Molly's eyes filled with tears and she said in a low voice filled with anger: "Stop it. Just stop it."

John also strolled over, saying angrily: "If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called, you could have talked to me."

"Please do relax. This is all for a case." Sherlock said tiredly, and John asked incredulously: "A ca... What kind of case would need you doing this? And why didn't Marie stop you?"

John noticed just the slightest flash of emotion cross the detective's face before it was gone and he retorted in his usual fashion: "I might as well ask you why you've started cycling to work."

Molly's frown deepened while John said flatly, still absorbed in that flash of pain that had crossed Sherlock's face: "No. We're not playing this game. Now, where's Marie? She's not answering her phone either."

"Quite recently, I'd say. You're very determined about it." Sherlock added, and John retorted: "Not interested. Where's-?"

"I am." The strange man suddenly chimed in, and Sherlock was thankful for the interruption- he really didn't want to talk about Marie. The man then complained as Mary bandaged his arm: "Ow!"

"Oh, sorry. You moved." Mary said, but she added comfortingly: "But it is just a sprain."

"Yeah. Somebody 'it me." The man said in his dazed voice, but his eyes flickered over to John as Mary looked up and asked confusedly: "Huh?"

Sherlock and Mary both glanced over at John as he stood awkwardly swinging his arms. The man just replied vaguely as his eyes moved away from John: "Eh, just some guy."

Sherlock continued to glance at John, who replied in a tight voice: "Yeah, probably just an addict in need of a fix."

"Yes, I think, in a way, it was." Sherlock muttered, and John gave him a pointed look.

They were interrupted by the man piping up again as he asked: "Is it his shirt?"

Sherlock paused, and then turned to the man sharply, asking: "I'm sorry?"

"Well, it's the creases, innit?" The man asked, and his eyes slid back to John. Sherlock's eyes also moved to John's shirt, as the man explained what Sherlock had noticed earlier: "The two creases down the front."

John closed his jacket uncomfortably but the man continued: "It's been recently folded but it's not new. Must have dressed in a hurry this morning. So all your shirts must be kept like that."

John's mouth fell open while Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he examined the man, who went on: "But why? Maybe 'cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an' then dress in the clothes you brought with you."

Sherlock raised a brow, impressed while John's jaw set.

"You keep your shirts folded, ready to pack." The man finished.

John's mouth twitched irritably while Sherlock commented: "Not bad."

The man added confidently: "An' I further deduce," Sherlock glanced at John in surprise while John looked a little stunned, "you've only started recently, because you've got a bit of chafing."

John glanced down while Sherlock's brows raised and he mumbled: "No, he's always walked like that. Remind me, what's your name again?" He added, and John looked up to glare at the man as well.

He replied, his eyes much sharper now than they'd been before: "They call me The Wig."

"No they don't." Sherlock replied sharply, and the man tried: "Well, they-they call me Wiggy."

"Nope." Sherlock said flatly, and the man fidgeted a little while everyone else stared between the pair. John hadn't seen a battle of wits like this since Marie.

The man's eyes moved down as he finally admitted sheepishly, knowing when he was beaten: "Bill. Bill Wiggins."

"Nice observational skills, Billy _._ " Sherlock commented; although the phrase itself was a compliment, he said it so mockingly that it came across as more of an insult.

Sherlock's attention was diverted as his phone beeped, and he glanced down, opening his text message as he muttered triumphantly: "Ah! Finally."

"'Finally' what?" Molly asked sharply while Bill chimed in: "Good news?"

Sherlock didn't look up as he said enthusiastically: "Oh, excellent news, the best _._ "

His eyes finally glanced up for a second before he looked back down, typing a response as he told them: "There's every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on."

He walked towards the door, this time punching in a number and as he raised it to his ear, he turned to them all as he said dismissively: "Excuse me for a second."

He walked out, leaving the others to all stare at him dumbfounded.

' _Where the hell is Marie?'_ John wondered as he watched his friend disappear.

* * *

Sherlock waited for the other person to pick up, and exactly two rings later, a woman answered: "Hello?"

"He's made contact." Sherlock said, getting straight to the point.

He listened as Marie took a sharp breath, before murmuring: "So, it's finally time to play the game."

He nodded once, even though she couldn't see him, knowing she'd take his silence as agreement. Her tone became business-like as she as asked: "So, what do you want me to do?"

Sherlock hesitated before murmuring: "I want you to get out. Head somewhere discreet, make it really look like you're trying to disappear."

She snorted as she replied: "That's not too hard, it's what I'm doing- avoiding Mycroft's people isn't easy you know. It was killer making sure he believed I was in Italy, although that's recently been exposed."

Sherlock grinned just a little bit and there was a pause between the two.

"Sherlock, you are taking care of yourself though, aren't you?" Marie suddenly asked in a low voice and Sherlock's voice caught as his throat tightened.

"Of course." He murmured and she said a little sharply: "You know, if you can't lie properly you really shouldn't bother trying."

Sherlock laughed a little at that, but he replied: "Well, I thought I'd let you hear what you wanted to hear."

She sighed and Sherlock's smile disappeared from his face.

"I miss you." Marie murmured quietly, and Sherlock sighed.

"As do I." He admitted quietly.

There was a beat of silence before Marie was back to business as she said firmly: "Alright, I'm leaving within the hour. Don't forget to keep me posted."

Sherlock didn't say anything, just staring into space. Marie finally murmured softly: "Bye, love."

"Bye, V." Sherlock murmured back under his breath.

He could almost picture her smile at that, but she hung up immediately. Sherlock lowered his phone slowly, and for a moment allowed the pain and loneliness of not having Marie by his side course through his body. It was too soon after their two year separation, but this was something he needed to do.

So after letting himself bathe in his pain for just one moment, Sherlock returned to business, turning back to the lab where his friends stood waiting.


	15. Case?

As Sherlock rode in the cab back to Baker street, Sherlock asked suddenly: "You've heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course."

John glanced at Sherlock in surprise. The dark-haired man hadn't spoken the entire time but had apparently returned to his normal state as he began to explain his case, so John replied: "Yeah. Owns some newspapers – ones I don't read."

Sherlock suddenly looked around and asked in confusion: "Hang on, weren't there other people?"

John sighed, looking at his friend as he said: "Mary's taking the boys home; I'm taking you. We did discuss it."

Sherlock muttered thoughtfully: "People were talking, none of them me, I must have filtered."

"I noticed." John mumbled but Sherlock just leaned back and retorted: "I have to filter out a lot of witless babble. I've got Mrs Hudson on semi-permanent mute."

"Why? Where's Marie?" John asked yet again, and once more Sherlock ignored him.

But this time, John wasn't ready to just let it go as he demanded sharply: "Sherlock, I mean it. Where's Marie, and why is she not answering her phone?"

Sherlock tried to shrug nonchalantly but John continued adamantly: "So I'm to believe that you're on a case about a newspaper owner, and for this so-called 'case' you went to a drug den, and Marie's just gone MIA?"

Sherlock was saved from replying as they arrived outside 221, although he was immediately irritated the moment he saw the front door.

"What is my brother doing here?" Sherlock asked in annoyance. He climbed out the cab, going to stand before the front door, staring irritably.

"So I'll just pay, then, shall I?" John called sarcastically as he paid the cabbie.

Sherlock didn't notice as he continued, while staring at the knocker: "He's straightened the knocker. He always corrects it. He's OCD. Doesn't even know he's doing it."

Sherlock twisted the knocker, making it crooked again, before he opened the door.

"Why'd you do that?" John asked in confusion as he followed Sherlock inside and Sherlock asked nonchalantly: "Do what?"

"Nothing." John muttered.

As soon as Sherlock stepped inside, his face twisted into a grimace. Mycroft asked in a mixture of sarcasm and reproach from his seat on the steps leading up to Sherlock's flat: "Well, then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?"

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked flatly, and John explained quietly: "I phoned him."

As Sherlock turned to glare at John, Mycroft continued: "The siren call of old habits. How very like Uncle Rudy, though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you."

Sherlock folded his arms and leant against the wall as he asked John irritably: "You phoned him."

"'Course I bloody phoned him." John retorted and Mycroft added flatly: "'Course he bloody did. Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"

"'We'?" Sherlock repeated with a frown, and from upstairs they heard a familiar voice call: "Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock's mouth dropped momentarily in disbelief before his face contorted into one of fury.

"For God's sake!" He snarled as he pushed past Mycroft, who just sat casually as Sherlock stormed up the stairs.

Mycroft then stood, and together he and John casually made their way up the stairs while Sherlock stalked into his flat and snapped: "Anderson."

The man raised his hands defensively from where he stood going through Sherlock's equipment on the kitchen table while the woman beside him just stared at Sherlock in awe. Anderson said to the detective apologetically: "I'm sorry, Sherlock. It's for your own good."

Sherlock grimaced and turned to his living room.

"Oh, that's him, isn't it?" The woman breathed as she stared at Sherlock. "He's said to be taller."

Sherlock ignored them all as he flung his jacket hood over his head, crawling sulkily onto his armchair while Mycroft walked in, saying: "Some members of your little fan-club, to be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat."

As Sherlock just grimaced from where he was lying on his armchair, Mycroft said sternly: "You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit."

"I do not _have_ a drug habit." Sherlock snapped bitterly, wishing people would just listen to him already.

"Hey, what happened to my chair?" John asked suddenly as he pointed at the empty spot where his armchair used to be.

Sherlock paused, his eyes flickering a little furtively, before he replied: "It was blocking my view to the kitchen."

"Well, it's good to be missed." John commented sarcastically, and Sherlock shrugged as he said: "Well, you were gone. I saw an opportunity."

"No, you saw the kitchen." John retorted.

Mycroft decided not to intervene, opting instead to turn to Anderson as he asked: "What have you found so far? Clearly nothing."

"There's nothing to find." Sherlock snapped angrily, but Mycroft commented: "Your bedroom door is shut. You haven't been home all night."

Mycroft began to walk over to Sherlock's room as he went on: "Clearly not Marie, John's already mentioned she's unreachable. So, why would a man who has otherwise never knowingly closed the door," Sherlock suddenly twitched as he realized where Mycroft was headed, lifting his head, "without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?"

"Okay, stop!" Sherlock shouted, sitting upright as Mycroft's hand settled on his bedroom doorknob.

"Just stop. Point made." Sherlock said in defeat and John sighed: "Jesus, Sherlock."

"I'll have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma." Mycroft said as he walked back towards them. "Won't be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing."

Sherlock stood up, going over to meet Mycroft as he snarled at his brother: "This is not what you think. This is for a case."

"What case could possibly justify this?" Mycroft asked sceptically and Sherlock replied flatly: "Magnussen."

Mycroft's face changed as Sherlock added slowly and distinctly: "Charles Augustus Magnussen."

John looked confused as Mycroft's face looked almost fearful before he turned to Anderson and his companion, saying coldly: "That name you think you may have just heard, you were mistaken."

Anderson blinked but Mycroft went on monotonously: "If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you on behalf of the British security services that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration."

Anderson and the woman reared back a little in fear, but Mycroft wasn't finished as he continued in that cold, emotionless voice: "Don't reply, just look frightened and scuttle."

Anderson quickly did as Mycroft said, leading his friend away as the older Holmes turned to John, saying blandly: "I hope I won't have to threaten you as well."

John blinked in surprise before he said with a frown: "Well, I think we'd both fine, isn't that embarrassing."

Sherlock snorted amusedly, but his face quickly became serious as Mycroft turned to him and he said sharply: "Magnussen is not your business."

"Oh, you mean he's yours." Sherlock said sarcastically.

Mycroft replied curtly: "You may consider him under my protection."

"I consider you under his thumb." Sherlock retorted as he walked up to Mycroft, coming toe to toe with his brother, who said darkly: "If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against me."

"Okay, I'll let you know if I notice." Sherlock said lightly as he walked off, leaving his brother to close his eyes in annoyance.

Sherlock just went on airily as he headed over to the door: "Er, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah." He opened the door and said pointedly to his brother: "Bye-bye."

Mycroft turned and his eyes narrowed.

"Is that why Marie has disappeared?" He asked flatly and John was surprised at the cold look that appeared on Sherlock's face.

Mycroft went on in calm fury: "Why else would she disappear, taking great pains to avoid me? Nice trick in Italy by the way- very ingenious."

Sherlock's eyes had narrowed and he said flatly: "Get out."

"Curious that your one weakness should disappear," Mycroft continued, ignoring his brother as he walked over, "just when you decide to go against Magnussen."

"Get. Out." Sherlock bit out and Mycroft said in a voice quiet with anger, stopping right before Sherlock: "No distance and no amount of cleverness will keep her safe if you decide to go against Magnussen and I, Sherlock. It would be unwise, brother mine."

Sherlock just took Mycroft's arm, whipping it around and shoving his brother against the wall. Mycroft groaned in agony as Sherlock placed pressure on his arm, bending it dangerously as he snarled: "Brother mine, don't appal me when I'm high."

John quickly walked up, saying tensely: "Mycroft, don't say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now, I am slightly worried that he might."

At John's look, Sherlock released his brother. He stalked back into the living room as Mycroft rubbed his arm, turning furiously but John said firmly: "Don't speak. Just leave."

As Mycroft stared at him, John picked up the other man's umbrella for him, handing it to him. He held it out as he cleared his throat pointedly and Mycroft snatched his umbrella before walking out angrily. John breathed slowly before turning back to Sherlock, asking: "Uh, Magnussen?"

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked abruptly, and John shrugged as he replied: "About eight."

Sherlock turned back to him as he muttered: "I'm meeting him in three hours. I need a bath."

He started to head out of the living, brushing past John.

"It's for a case, you said?" John asked, and Sherlock replied, without looking back as he headed for the bathroom: "Yep."

"What sort of case?" John asked, and Sherlock retorted: "Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in."

"You trying to put me off?" John called, put out, and Sherlock scoffed: "God, no."

He turned at the bathroom door and grinned at his former flatmate.

"Trying to recruit you." Sherlock finished lightly.

John felt a grin spread across his own face as Sherlock walked into the bathroom, adding: "And stay out of my bedroom."

Sherlock slammed the door shut, and as soon as he was out of sight, John made his way grimly down the hall towards Sherlock's closed bedroom door. But before he even reached the door, it opened and John froze in shock as, of all people, Janine people poked her head out around the doorway.

"Oh, John," the Irish woman greeted, "hi. How are you?" She asked as she stepped out dressed only in a large dress-shirt that looked like it was probably Sherlock's.

John asked, stunned and unable to believe his eyes.: "Janine?"

"Sorry, not dressed." She apologized before he headed off into the kitchen, asking lightly: "Has everybody gone? I heard shouting."

"Yes, they're gone." John replied flatly, still too shocked to do anything more than stare at the woman helplessly as she walked about the kitchen, muttering as she checked her watch: "God, look at the time. I'll be late."

She continued as she fetched the kettle: "Sounded like an argument. Was it Mike?" She asked as she turned to John, and he repeated incredulously: "Mike?"

"Mike, yeah." Janine replied airily as she started boiling some water. "His brother, Mike. They're always fighting."

"Mycroft?" John asked, now completely bewildered, but Janine just shot him an amused look as she asked: "Do people actually call him that?"

"Yeah." John replied, slowly coming out of his shock-induced stupor while Janine snorted.

"Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?" She added as she started to make her way out again, and John replied finally a little more pleasantly: "Sure, right, yeah."

"Thanks." Janine said, and then she paused at the kitchen doorway to ask excitedly: "Ooh, how's Mary? How's married life?"

"She's fine. We're both fine, yeah." John replied a little awkwardly and he turned to the cupboard, when Janine corrected as she pointed to the cupboards on the other side of the kitchen: "Oh, it's over there now."

The made John freeze. Sherlock had a nasty habit of moving things around quite often but if there was one thing he never moved it was the tea and coffee. They were always in the same place, right where Marie could easily get them in the morning and then when she came home. The fact that it had been moved told John more than anything that something was _very_ wrong.

John slowly moved to fetch the coffee, when Janine asked: "Where's Sherl?"

"Sherl." John muttered incredulously under his breath before he said more loudly to Janine: "He's just having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in a minute."

"Oh, like he ever is!" Janine replied with a chuckle and John muttered, pulling a face: "Yeah."

Janine didn't see as she'd turned to the bathroom door. She knocked, calling flirtatiously: "Morning! Room for a little one?"

John listened incredulously as he heard the pair laughing, chatting and _flirting._ Sherlock did not flirt, not even with Marie, and least of all openly. John knew Sherlock and Marie had been less than decent in their bedroom but they rarely even kissed outside the bedroom.

' _What the hell is Sherlock playing here, and where the hell is Marie?'_ John wondered.

* * *

"So," Sherlock said lightly as he walked into the living room fully dressed, "it's just a guess but you've probably got some questions."

"Yeah, one or two, pretty much." John said a little sarcastically from his seat on the coffee table.

"Naturally." Sherlock scoffed as he sat down in his armchair and John asked incredulously, getting straight to the point: "You have a _girlfriend_ , whose name isn't Marie?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied shortly, and not wanting to dwell on that subject, he changed topics as he said in a low undertone: "Now, Magnussen."

Sherlock explained quietly: "Magnussen is like a shark- it's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John, stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes ... That's what he is."

He paused and said, his revulsion clear in his voice: "I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen."

"Yes?" John asked suddenly, his voice sceptical, and Sherlock frowned at his tone.

"Sorry, what?" He asked, confused, and John asked flatly: "You have a girlfriend whose name isn't Marie?"

"What?" Sherlock asked blankly, and then realizing what John was talking about, he added hastily: "Yes! Yes, I'm going out with… Janine."

He almost faltered on the name, but he was sure John didn't catch it as he added derisively: "I thought that was _fairly_ obvious."

"Yes. Well ... yes." John muttered, clearly uncomfortable with just _how_ obvious it was, before he added slowly: "But I mean you, you, you ... are in a relationship? With _Janine_?"

He checked in disbelief and Sherlock nodded as he replied lightly: "Yes, I am."

"You and Janine?" John asked flatly, and Sherlock tried not to wince as he confirmed, looking John straight in the eyes: "Mmm, yes. Me and Janine."

"Care to elaborate?" John demanded. He was extremely put out by Sherlock's indifferent attitude- did he really not care that Marie was gone?

"Well," Sherlock said slowly, clearly looking for the right words, "we're in a good place. It's, um ... very affirming."

"You got that from a book." John accused, and Sherlock countered with a scoff: " _Everyone_ got that from a book."

"Okay." Janine called as she walked out of the bedroom.

John leaned back as Janine walked into the living room, also fully dressed and ready for work, saying: "You two bad boys, behave yourselves. And you, Sherl." She added with a cheeky smile as she sat on his lap. "You're gonna have to tell me where you were last night."

"Working." Sherlock replied as he smiled at Janine, and she replied flirtatiously: "'Working.' Of course. I'm the only one who really knows what you're like, remember?"

John could only watch in growing disbelief and agitation as Sherlock murmured softly: "Don't you go letting on."

"I might just, actually." She replied coyly.

She seemed to remember John, and she turned to him as she said sheepishly: "I haven't told Mary about this."

She indicated Sherlock, "I kind of wanted to surprise her."

"Yeah, you probably will." John muttered, and added under his breath: "And I don't think it'll be a happy one."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes warningly at John while Janine didn't hear and added cheerfully: "But we should have you two over for dinner really soon!"

She looked at Sherlock, who replied enthusiastically: "Yeah!"

" _My_ place, though, not the… scuzz-dump." Janine added as she indicated the messy flat.

John's brow furrowed as Sherlock chortled with Janine. Sherlock was always very proud of his messy environment and hated any jibe at it; everyone knew that. It was to the point that it always amazed John how Marie managed to find that fine line between keeping the flat clean but leaving Sherlock's things just as he liked them.

"Great, yeah! _Dinner_! Yeah." John muttered, unable to connect what his eyes were seeing and what his brain, and heart, was telling him, but Janine didn't notice his lack of enthusiasm as she checked her watch again and murmured: "Oh, I'd better dash. It was brilliant to see you!"

She greeted John as she quickly got up, and John stood as he greeted: "You too."

He watched carefully as Sherlock also stood and opened the flat door for Janine, murmuring: "Have a lovely day. Call me later."

Janine paused at the doorway as she teased: "I might do. I might call you… unless I meet someone prettier."

She kissed him deeply and John quickly averted his gaze uncomfortably. Janine whispered: "Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes."

She left, and John turned around just as Sherlock closed the door behind her, his smile dropping immediately and his face returning to its usual impassive expression.

' _I_ knew _there was something wrong here.'_ John thought, half curious half disgusted. The question was, what?

Sherlock meanwhile continued their conversation from earlier as he said darkly: "You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he's _so_ much more than that. He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power."

He sat at the desk as he added: "I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond."

He switched the laptop on as he went on: "He is the Napoleon of blackmail ... and he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name ... is Appledore."

She turned the computer to show John the screen, revealing a large, unique modern building about the size of a mid-size gallery. But John couldn't bring himself to care at the moment as he said flatly: "Dinner."

"Sorry, what, dinner?" Sherlock asked bewildered and John asked flatly: "Me and Mary, coming for dinner with… you and…"

He gestured vaguely at the door where Janine had disappeared out of and Sherlock stared at him.

"Seriously?" He asked in disbelief. "I've just told you that the Western world is _run_ from this house, and you want to talk about _dinner_?"

"No, I want to talk about Marie." John corrected and he saw Sherlock's eyes narrow just slightly.

He continued firmly: "Sherlock, you can try fool everyone else, and you seem to have fooled Janine, but I know you better than that. More importantly, I've seen how you look at Marie. You look at her like she's the only thing that matters in the universe, and I don't see that when you look at Janine."

Sherlock took a sharp breath, and John saw something flit through his eyes. When he'd mentioned Marie, it had looked almost like… pain. John asked slowly, becoming more and more concerned: "Sherlock… where's Marie?"

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted, and John snapped: "Sherlock!"

"I really don't know." Sherlock said darkly, and this time he made no attempt to hide his pain.

John looked surprised as Sherlock said quietly: "You're blaming me, but has it occurred to you that she might have been the one to betray me?"

John paused, staring at Sherlock as the man continued in an agitated tone that was in actual fact not a lie, even if the words were: "She left me, John. After all that, she left and I didn't want to wallow alone. So, yes, I might have taken advantage of the fact that Janine fancied me, but it was that or _actually_ taking on a drug habit."

John stared at him as Sherlock stared back with a pained expression that begged him not to press any further. So, although he was very unhappy about it, John let the subject go as he muttered: "Fine, talk about the house."

Sherlock took a deep breath to calm himself, and then he explained in a neutral tone: "It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world. The Alexandrian Library of secrets and scandals, and _none_ of it is on a computer. He's smart- computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy in vaults underneath that house; and as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy."

"Ooh-ooh!" Mrs. Hudson knocked at the door, interrupting them as she said: "Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?"

"It's in the fridge. It kept ringing." Sherlock dismissed and Mrs. Hudson scolded: "Oh, that's not a _fault_ , Sherlock!"

"Who is it?" John asked, and Mrs. Hudson paused. John cocked his head while Sherlock's eyes narrowed.


	16. Magnussen

Sherlock and John stood in the living room, and John watched tensely as a small team of private security guards walked in. Sherlock groaned in annoyance but complied easily, lifting his arms as he said scornfully: "Oh, go ahead."

One of the guards patted him down, while another stood before John and asked: "Sir?"

John glanced at the man, before asking: "Can I have a moment?"

The security guard hesitated, but Sherlock interjected: "Oh, he's fine."

The guard began to pat John down as the doctor sighed and added to Sherlock: "Er, I ... right. I should probably tell you-"

The guard pulled out a pocket knife and raised his brows at John, who muttered: "Okay, I ... That." He finished lamely.

"And…" John trailed off as the guard then found the tyre lever and looked at John sceptically, and even Sherlock looked surprised.

"Doesn't mean I'm _not_ pleased to see you." John whispered, giving up.

Sherlock interjected: "I can vouch for this man. He's a doctor. If you know who I am, then you know who he is."

Sherlock turned to the door and addressed the man who stepped in.

" _Don't_ you, Mr Magnussen?"

The guard stepped back, appeased, and John saw the stately gentleman with his receding blond hair and clear-framed glasses. Sherlock began, folding his hands behind his back: "I understood we were meeting at your office."

Magnussen looked around and murmured softly, but firmly: "This _is_ my office."

He walked inside, and glanced at John, who saw what Sherlock meant about this strange man's eyes- they were absolutely dead, void of any emotion. Magnussen continued: "Well, it is _now._ "

Sherlock raised a brow as Magnussen casually picked up the morning paper from the coffee table.

"Mr Magnussen," Sherlock began as Magnussen sat down on the sofa, "I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters. Some time ago you... put pressure on her concerning those letters." He worded it carefully.

Magnussen looked at him as Sherlock continued firmly: "She would like those letters back."

Magnussen examined Sherlock with those flat almost colorless eyes and Sherlock added: "Obviously the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind-"

Magnussen suddenly snorted a little and Sherlock paused. He levelled a look at the other man and inquired: "Something I said?"

"No, no. I-I was reading." Magnussen replied, touching his glasses. He murmured pensively: "There's rather a lot. 'Victoire'."

Sherlock's eyes widened and then narrowed fractionally as the name shook him to his core. Magnussen seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts as he said softly: "Sorry. Sorry. You were probably talking?"

"I..." Sherlock swallowed and John glanced at him worriedly as the detective stuttered, "I was trying to explain that I've been asked to act on behalf of-"

"Bathroom?" Magnussen interrupted suddenly.

One of the security men replied readily: "Along from the kitchen, sir."

"Okay." Magnussen murmured. Sherlock frowned while John raised his brows, confused.

Sherlock said sharply: "I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters."

Magnussen removed his glasses as Sherlock continued: "I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents-"

"Is it like the rest of the flat?" Magnussen asked abruptly.

"Sir?" The security man asked, as Sherlock once again paused.

"The bathroom?" Magnussen elaborated, and the security man replied, also sounding a little confused but unquestioning: "Er, yes, sir."

"Maybe not, then." Magnussen murmured. John noticed the man never spoke above the hushed, almost caressing tone, and it terrified him more than any shouting or harsh voices in the world.

Sherlock asked snappishly: "Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

Magnussen almost smirked and he looked off into the distance as he murmured: "Lady Elizabeth Smallwood."

He turned his eyes back to Sherlock and they were suddenly much sharper as he said suggestively: "I _like_ her."

He smacked his lips with a ghost of a sneer.

"Mr Magnussen," Sherlock repeated darkly as he refused to be distracted, "am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

Magnussen continued airily: "She's English, with a spine."

He pushed the coffee table away with his foot and added as he stood up: "Best thing about the English..." Sherlock glanced back as the security guards removed the grating on the fireplace, "you're _so_ domesticated. Not like the _French_."

He added pointedly as he looked at Sherlock, who stiffened just minutely. Magnussen stood before Sherlock and John, glancing between them as he insulted: "All standing around, apologising. Keeping your little heads down."

He stepped passed the pair and stood before the fireplace, and they head the distinct sound of trousers unzipping.

He continued lightly: "You can do what you like here. No-one's ever going to stop you. A nation of herbivores."

There was the soft sound of liquid hitting the fireplace and John glanced at Sherlock, his disgust written all over his face but Sherlock didn't even blink.

Magnussen continued: "I've interests all over the world but, er, everything starts in England. If it works here..." He zipped his pants again. "I'll try it in a _real_ country."

He turned back to walk passed them and took the wet wipe his guard offered him as he mused: "The United Kingdom, huh?"

He turned to look at Sherlock as he scorned: "Petri dish to the Western world. Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I'm keeping them."

He tossed his used wet wipe onto the floor as he said lightly: "Goodbye."

He made as if to go when he paused.

"Anyway..." he added as he turned back to show a bundle of letters inside his jacket pocket, "they're funny."

He then walked out, his security guards following immediately and wordlessly.

As soon as they were gone, John muttered revolted: " _Jesus!"_

"Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?" Sherlock asked in a low voice, and John spluttered: "Wh... There _was_ a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah."

"Exactly." Sherlock smirked. "When he showed us the letters."

He began to pace the living room as John paused, and muttered defeated: "Okay."

"So he's brought the letters to London," Sherlock mused triumphantly, "so no matter _what_ he says, he's ready to make a deal."

"Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he's established a person's weaknesses," he grabbed his jacket, "the 'pressure point,' he calls it. So, clearly he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat."

' _Or he's found Marie.'_ John thought wryly, thinking about the thinly veiled jibes Magnussen had made. Sherlock watched Magnussen drive away and he finished excitedly: " _And_ , of course, because he's in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven 'til ten."

"How-how do you know his schedule?" John asked puzzled, and Sherlock replied vaguely: "Because I do."

Sherlock turned back to the room, saying firmly: "Right, I'll see you tonight." He added offhandedly as he turned to the door. He muttered: "I've got some shopping to do."

"What's tonight?" John called after him, and Sherlock called back: "I'll text instructions."

"Yeah, I'll text _you_ if I'm available." John snapped but Sherlock shouted back: "You are! I checked!"

John rolled his eyes and quickly followed him out. Sherlock added as he walked out the door: "Don't bring a gun."

"Why would I bring a gun?" John asked incredulously, and Sherlock just listed: "Or a knife, or a tyre lever. Probably best not to do any arm-spraining, but we'll see how the night goes."

He waved to get a cab's attention and John joined him on the curb, asking slowly: "You're just assuming I'm coming along?"

He was feeling a little annoyed at how sure Sherlock seemed, and it didn't help when the detective replied shortly: "Time you got out of the house, John. You've put on seven pounds since you got married, and the cycling isn't doing it."

A cab pulled up, and Sherlock turned to it.

"It's actually four pounds." John muttered, and Sherlock countered as he climbed into the cab: "Mary and I think seven. See you later."

He turned to the cab, saying: "Hatton Garden."

And John watched as his friend drove away.

Sherlock meanwhile pulled out his phone, securing the line before he sent his text. 'Contact made. Be careful.'

He paused, wanting to add more, to warn her that Magnussen was highly aware she was Sherlock's greatest pressure point. But he sighed, and simply sent the text as it was. It would be pointless, and revealed too much; Marie already knew she needed to tread carefully while Sherlock was on this case.

* * *

John walked into Magnussen's office building, glancing around. He couldn't see Sherlock anywhere, but just as he was about to pull out his phone, the detective spoke from behind him: "Magnussen's office is on the top floor."

John glanced back at him in surprise, which Sherlock ignored as he continued: "Just below his private flat." He nodded at the elevators.

"There are fourteen levels of security between us and him, two of which aren't even legal in this country. Want to know how we're going to break in?" He added nonchalantly.

John turned to him in disbelief as he asked: "Is that what we're doing?"

"Of course it's what we're doing." Sherlock scoffed.

He led the way in without waiting for John to reply as he explained: "Magnussen's private lift. It goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only he uses it, and only his key card calls the lift. Anyone else even tries, security is automatically informed."

As they approached the elevator, Sherlock pulled out a key card, showing it to John as he explained: "Standard key card for the building. Nicked it yesterday. Only gets us as far as the canteen. If I was to use this card on that lift now, what happens?" He asked suggestively and John shrugged.

"Er, the alarms would go off and you'd be dragged away by security." He replied, and Sherlock nodded as he said: "Exactly."

"Get taken to a small room somewhere and your head kicked in." John continued and Sherlock frowned.

"Do we really need so much colour?" He asked and John replied somewhat sarcastically: "It passes the time."

Sherlock moved on saying as he pulled out his phone: "But if I do _this._ "

He held the card against his phone as he explained: "If you press a key card against your mobile phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip. The card stops working. It's a common problem, never put your key card with your phone. What happens if I use the card now?" He prompted.

"It still doesn't work." John pointed out, and Sherlock corrected: "But it doesn't read as the wrong card now. It registers as corrupted. But if it's corrupted, how do they know it's not Magnussen?" He suggested and John saw what he meant.

"Oh." He breathed.

"Would they risk dragging him off?" Sherlock asked, and John replied thoughtfully: "Probably not."

"So what do they do? What do they have to do?" Sherlock prompted again and John said slowly: "Check if it's him or not."

Sherlock explained: "There's a camera at eye height to the right of the door."

He nodded at it, and John looked over.

"A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen's personal staff in his office, the only people trusted to make a positive ID. At this hour, almost certainly his PA."

"S-so how's that help us?" John asked confused and Sherlock replied flatly: "Human error."

He then patted his coat pocket as he added with just the hint of humour in his voice: "I've been shopping."

He walked over to the elevator, murmuring: "Here we go, then."

He pressed the card and stood right before the camera, and John muttered out of the corner of his mouth: "You realise you don't exactly look like Magnussen."

"Which, in this case, is a considerable advantage." Sherlock murmured back before he beamed at the camera.

John sighed, but froze as a very familiar Irish voice asked: "Sherlock, you complete loon! What are you doing?"

"Hang on, was that ...? That ...!" John began in complete disbelief but Sherlock lifted a hand to him, cutting him off as he said softly to the camera: "Hi, Janine. Go on, let me in."

He grinned, looking for all the world like a childish boyfriend who wanted to see his girlfriend.

"I can't! You know I can't. Don't be silly." Janine replied firmly, but Sherlock murmured conspiratorially: "Don't make me do it out here. Not," he glanced around at all the other office workers walking about, "in front of everyone."

"Do what in front of everyone?" Janine asked confused, and John was trying very hard not to look suspicious. He had no idea what Sherlock was planning to do to persuade Janine…

' _Oh, for the love of-!'_ John thought while he stared in a mix of shock and horror as Sherlock pulled out a small box from his pocket, opening the lid to reveal a small diamond ring.

Sherlock grinned at the camera, and John stared in disbelief as the elevator doors slid open. His shock morphed into slight anger and disbelief as Sherlock turned, his face impassive as he told John flatly: "You see? As long as there's people, there's always a weak spot."

He made to get into the elevator, but John stopped him as he accused: "That was Janine."

"Yes, of course it was Janine." Sherlock replied impatiently. He explained: "She's Magnussen's PA. That's the whole point."

"Did you just get engaged to break into an office?" John asked in a mix of disbelief and disgust, and Sherlock replied as though it was no big deal: "Yeah. Stroke of luck, meeting her at your wedding. You can take some of the credit."

He got into the elevator and John followed almost automatically, still mostly in shock as he muttered: "Je-Jesus! Sherlock, she loves you."

He pointed out, and Sherlock replied monotonously: "Yes. Like I said. Human error."

John glared at him and as the doors slid shut he snapped: "So, this is it, isn't it? I was right, you sent Marie away to keep her safe and so that you could ultimately pull this-!"

He couldn't even finish his sentence as he gestured the stunt Sherlock was pulling. Sherlock almost groaned as John brought her up again; it really wasn't doing his heart much good.

"John, really? You'd think you were in love with her, you keep bringing her up." Sherlock snapped, and John retorted sharply: "I do love her, just not that way."

He stared menacingly at Sherlock as he snarled: "She's like a sister to me, and I can't believe you would break her heart and sent her away after the stunt you pulled two years ago, just for some other case!"

"John, shut up." Sherlock sighed, and John demanded: "No, _how_ could you get engaged? What about Marie?"

Sherlock was ready to hit something as he pointed out exasperated: "I didn't actually get engaged, and as you've so kindly pointed out _all_ day, obviously I love Marie and wouldn't want to be without her!"

He turned, annoyed and John stared at him.

"What are you gonna do?" He asked as they approached Magnussen's office and Sherlock replied shortly: "Well, not actually marry Janine, obviously. There's only _so_ far you can go."

"So what will you tell her?" John demanded, not missing that Sherlock had specifically pointed out he wasn't going to marry _Janine_. Was it possible that…?

Sherlock replied flatly: "Well, I'll tell her that our entire relationship was a ruse to break into her boss' office. I imagine she'll want to stop seeing me at that point, but you're the expert on women." He added coldly.

John didn't even feel the blow, he was too busy staring mutely at his friend as he wondered… Sherlock had bought a ring, and while John wouldn't put it past his friend to go to great lengths for his cases, he couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock's purchase might have been fuelled also for a more personal agenda.

Then again, you could never tell with the high-functioning sociopath. The elevator doors slid open and the pair stepped out into the office, both frowning at the silence. As they walked carefully inside, John asked slowly: "So where did she go?"

"It's a bit rude. I just proposed to her." Sherlock commented, when John saw a prone body lying on the ground near the windows.

"Sherlock." He called as he walked over to Janine, checking her vitals as Sherlock asked sceptically: "Did she faint? Do they _really_ do that?"

John's hand picked up blood and he corrected: "It's a blow to the head."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he turned to the rest of the room as John added: "She's breathing."

Sherlock didn't even glance over and John mentally rolled his eyes. It was like seeing the final proof- if that had been Marie, Sherlock would've been storming up a rage. He shook his head, focusing back on the unconscious woman who needed his help.

"Janine?" He called, trying to get her to respond. Sherlock walked over to the corner, and peered around into the hallway.

"Another in here. Security." Sherlock murmured as he checked the body briefly.

"Does he need help?" John called, and Sherlock replied as he ran his eyes over the man once: "Ex-con. White supremacist, by the tattoo, so who cares?"

John nodded tightly, and turned back to Janine as he murmured: "Janine, focus on my voice now."

Sherlock examined the office, and Magnussen's desk, when John called to him urgently in a loud whisper: "Hey! They must still be here."

"So's Magnussen." Sherlock replied. "His seat's still warm. He should be at dinner but he's still in the building."

He glanced up and noticed the staircase.

"Upstairs." He told John, who replied urgently: "We should call the police. "

"During our own burglary?" Sherlock pointed out scathingly. "You're really not a natural at this, are you?"

John sighed irritably, but Sherlock stopped him as he hissed: "No, wait, shh!"

He sniffed deeply and frowned. "Perfume- not Janine's."

He thought about it, and then identified it as-

"Claire-de-la-lune. Why do I know it?" Sherlock wondered, and John commented: "Mary wears it."

"No, not Mary. Somebody else." Sherlock retorted, and then he remembered.

He slowly lifted his gaze up in realization and John saw his face.

"Sherlock!" He whisper-called warningly, but it was no use as the taller man dashed up the stairs, heading quickly for the penthouse.

He made his way in carefully, slowly, and as he approached he could hear Magnussen for once sounding shaken: "What-what-what would your husband think, eh? He ... your lovely husband, upright, honourable ... so English."

Sherlock peered into the room to see Magnussen on his knees, his hands clasped behind his bowed head as he whimpered: "What-what would he say to you now?"

There was the sound of the gun being cocked and Magnussen cired: "Nej, nej!"

Sherlock slowly stepped into the room, careful not to make any noise as he spotted the black-cad woman's figure standing before Magnussen, who was stammering: "You're-you're doing this to protect him from the truth? What is this obsession here with honesty?"

Sherlock commented as he walked further inside, moving in front of the mirrors as he walked to the centre of the back wall: "Additionally, if you're going to commit murder, you might consider changing your perfume, Lady Smallwood."

He stopped directly in line with the woman's back, as she paused.

Magnussen raised his head to look at Sherlock incredulously as he asked slowly: "Sorry. Who?"

Sherlock cocked his head just slightly at Magnussen's confused look as he glanced back at his attacker, who was gripping her gun extremely tightly.

"That's ... not ... Lady Smallwood, Mr Holmes." Magnussen said shakily as he stared down the barrel of the gun. Sherlock frowned but then froze, unable to move from the shock, as the woman turned, and Mary Watson pointed her gun right at his chest.

*A/N So Magnussen makes my stomach churn, but that's beside the point. Hope you like the update, and I promise Marie's return soon!


	17. Liar

There were very few instances where Sherlock was stunned to the point that he lost the ability to move or speak. The largest blow so far had been during the Adler case when he'd been caught off-guard by first Adler and then, more importantly, Marie.

Nothing had ever come as close to surprising him as her revelations, but _this_ , this was coming in at quite a close second. He'd seen the liar in the woman before him now, but he'd never have guessed it was a lie to this scale. Not again.

Mary didn't even flinch as she kept her silencer pointed at him, asking calmly: "Is John with you?"

"He's, um ..." Sherlock got out before his mouth just gaped, still too stunned to fully even register her question.

"Is John _here_?" Mary repeated firmly.

"He-he's downstairs." Sherlock murmured, staring at her with wide eyes, his mind completely blank.

Mary's face became, if possible, grimmer, and Magnussen breathed from behind her: "So, what do you do now? Kill us both?"

"Mary, whatever he's got on you, let me help." Sherlock said, slowly breaking from his stupor as he took a step forwards, raising a hand in a gesture of peace.

But Mary said, a little apologetic but deadly serious: "Oh, Sherlock, if you take one more step I swear I will kill you."

"No, Mrs Watson." Sherlock replied firmly. "You won't."

He took another step, and Mary shot him right in the centre of his chest. He froze from the shock, before his head natural dropped to stare at the red spot that was beginning to grow on his shirt.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. Truly am." Mary whispered, and Sherlock asked dazedly: "Mary?"

Mary swiftly turned around, her gun back at Magnussen's head and everything in the room blackened for Sherlock as he entered his mind palace to deal with the crisis.

 _Alarms began to blare as he tried to find something in his mind that would help, and suddenly Molly Hooper was behind him, saying: "_ _It's not like it is in the movies. There's not a great big spurt of blood and you go flying backwards."_

 _His mind changed to a white morgue as Molly explained: "The impact isn't spread over a wide area. It's tightly focussed, so there's little or no energy transfer. You stay still, and the bullet pushes through. You're almost certainly going to die, so we need to focus."_

 _He slowly began to tunnel vision back into_ _Magnussen's office, and Molly said sharply:_ _"_ _I said, focus!"_

 _She slapped him and he was back in the white room as Molly commented while the alarms continued to blare:_ _"_ _It's all well and clever having a Mind Palace, but you've only three seconds of consciousness left to use it. So, come on, what's going to kill you?"_

 _"_ _Blood loss." Sherlock murmured, and Molly said: "Exactly. So, it's all about one thing now. Forwards, or backwards? We need to decide which way you're going to fall."_

 _Anderson appeared, asking: "One hole, or two?"_

 _"_ _Sorry?" Sherlock asked, and Molly elaborated: "Is the bullet still inside you, or is there an exit wound? It'll depend on the gun."_

 _Immediately Sherlock began to go through his mind's catalogue on guns, trying to identify Mary's gun quickly in the short time that he had._

 _"_ _That one, I think. Or that one." He muttered, unable to decide, when Mycroft snapped: "Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock. It doesn't matter about the gun. Don't be stupid. You always were so stupid. Such a disappointment."_

 _And it was like he was back to being a child as he snapped: "I'm not stupid."_

 _"_ _You're a very stupid little boy." Mycroft corrected harshly. He stood up as he snarled: "Mummy and Daddy are very cross... because it doesn't matter about the gun."_

 _"_ _Why not?" His child version asked, and Mycroft said condescendingly: "You saw the whole room when you entered it. What was directly behind you when you were murdered?"_

 _"_ _Not been murdered yet." Child Sherlock protested, but Mycroft sneered: "Balance of probability, little brother."_

 _"_ _Behind you, Sherlock." Marie's voice whispered and he turned, wanting to see her like he saw the others but instead he saw the mirrors._

 _"_ _If the bullet had passed through you, what would you have heard?" Mycroft asked, and Sherlock murmured softly: "The mirror shattering."_

 _"_ _You didn't. Therefore ...?" Mycroft prompted and Sherlock replied quietly: "The bullet's still inside me."_

 _"_ _Backwards." Marie's voice whispered again, and he turned back to his original position as he'd been when he'd been shot._

 _Anderson agreed: "So, we need to take him down backwards."_

 _"_ _I agree. Sherlock ... you need to fall on your back." Molly said firmly._

 _"_ _Right now, the bullet is the cork in the bottle." Anderson explained, and Molly added: "The bullet itself is blocking most of the blood flow."_

 _"_ _But any pressure or impact on the entrance wound could dislodge it." Anderson finished._

 _"_ _Plus, on your back, gravity's working for us." Molly told him, and Marie whispered again from behind, her voice right by Sherlock's ear: "Sherlock, fall now."_

 _He did as she said, letting himself fall backwards onto his back, but as he did so the alarms in his mind blared louder and inside his mind palace Sherlock gripped his head in agony._

 _"_ _What the hell is that? What's happening?" He demanded, and Molly explained: "You're going into shock. It's the next thing that's going to kill you."_

 _"_ _What do I do?" Sherlock demanded and Mycroft was there again as he said condescendingly: "Don't go into shock, obviously."_

 _He looked around the room they were currently in as he commented: "Must be something in this ridiculous memory palace of yours that can calm you down."_

 _His voice seemed to echo a little, and his eyes seemed to skewer Sherlock as he ordered: "Find it."_

 _He ran through his mind palace desperately, trying to find Marie. But then Mycroft said menacingly: "The East Wind is coming, Sherlock. It's coming to get you."_

 _His words echoed ominously around as Sherlock opened a door, hoping to find Marie but instead found Mary in her wedding dress, her gun raised, and she shot him once more. His mind screamed once more, and Mycroft's voice ordered threateningly as it echoed after him while he ran through his mind palace: "Find it."_

 _He was running out of time, he could feel it and he desperately needed Marie. But she was nowhere to be seen. She had to wander off all the time, never still, running around everywhere in her game of hide and seek._

 _He opened a door to find a memory of his childhood pet, and he called the dog eagerly, desperate for some small comfort: "Hello, Redbeard. Here, boy. Come on! Come to me. It's okay. It's all right."_

 _The dog ran towards him, and barking happily._

 _He hugged the dog as it licked his face, and he murmured sadly: "They're putting me down too, now. It's no fun, is it? Redbeard."_

 _But as he calmed down a little, his whole body seemed to burst into flames and his grip on Redbeard relaxed involuntarily as pain consumed his limbs and his mind. Molly explained: "Without the shock, you're going to feel the pain."_

 _His real body hit the floor as she explained and his mind's body shook uncontrollably._

 _"_ _There's a hole ripped through you. Massive internal bleeding. You have to control the pain." Molly ordered._

 _Sherlock ran deep into his mind palace, running from the pain in an effort to find that control._

 _"_ _Control!"_

 _He ran._

 _"_ _Control!"_

 _He ran._

 _"_ _Control."_

 _He entered into what looked like a cell in a madhouse, and twitched, hissing in pain but his eyes stared at the manacled, hunched over figure in the corner of the room._

 _"_ _You." He spat at the figure he would recognize anywhere._

 _"_ _You never felt pain, did you? Why did you never feel pain?" Sherlock asked desperately, his eyes shining with tears, and the man replied in a low voice: "You always feel it, Sherlock."_

 _Jim Moriarty turned and ran at Sherlock, restrained by the straightjacket and manacles as he snarled manically: "But you don't have to fear it!"_

 _Sherlock groaned as the pain overcame him, and he fell to the ground as Moriarty murmured: "Pain. Heartbreak. Loss. Death. It's all good. It's all good."_

 _"_ _Sherlock?" John's voice called._

John had arrived to find Sherlock unconscious on the ground. He called urgently as he knelt by his friend: "Sherlock? Can you hear me? What happened?" He asked Magnussen, who was just coming to on the other side of the room.

Magnussen murmured the obvious: "He got shot."

"Jesus." John muttered as he checked the wound.

"Sherlock! Oh, my ... Who shot him?" He demanded to Magnussen as he quickly called an ambulance. Magnussen simply replaced his glasses on his face as he slowly sat up, not replying and John refocused on getting help for his injured friend.

* * *

 _Sherlock twitched in pain as Moriarty sang softly from his side: "It's raining, it's pouring. Sherlock is boring. I'm laughing, I'm crying, Sherlock is dying."_

 _Sherlock was beginning to lose himself in the hellhole he'd found himself and his mind palace self was starting to lose consciousness._

The doctors operating on Sherlock began to despair, he was flat lining. Once they lost him, there would be no point in going any further with the surgery.

 _Moriarty snarled at him: "Come on, Sherlock. Just die, why can't you? One little push, and off you pop."_

 _Sherlock closed his eyes and Moriarty continued: "You're gonna love being dead, Sherlock. No-one ever bothers you. Mrs Hudson will cry; and Mummy and Daddy will cry. And The Woman will cry; not so sure about Vicky. She's been taught better. I would know."_

 _Sherlock groaned, struggling as he felt the life leave him. Moriarty just went on amusedly: "John, though, he will cry buckets and buckets. It's him that I worry about the most. That wife! You're letting him down, Sherlock. John Watson is definitely in danger."_

 _Sherlock's eyes snapped open at that, but his body still refused to move._

 _"_ _Sherlock…" Marie's voice breathed. "Sherlock, John…"_

 _Sherlock flailed, making to sit up even as the pain seized every cell in his body. As he slowly made it to his feet, Moriarty asked with a frown: "Oh, you're not getting better, are you? Was it something I said, huh?"_

 _Sherlock struggled but managed to tumble his way out of the cell, stumbling out as Moriarty screamed after him: "Sherlock!_

 _"_ _John." He groaned as he climbed his way desperately up his mind palace, trying to head back towards the soft voice that had called him. But his legs gave out, and he stumbled, falling to his knees on the steps, still near the cellars of his mind palace, still near death._

 _"_ _Marie." He breathed, hopelessly, but he grit his teeth. He had to make it, he had to get back to her. He hauled himself to his feet, making his way up again by clinging to the stair rails as though his life depended on it. Literally._

 _"_ _Sherlock."_

 _Marie's voice whispered again from above, and he gasped, trying to reach it: "Marie."_

 _"_ _Sherlock, come back. Come back to me. Come back to me and John."_

 _"_ _John." Sherlock gasped, and she encouraged: "That's right. You have to save him."_

 _He reached up and finally felt the warm hand he'd been searching for. He closed his eyes, finally finding peace._

And when he opened his eyes again, it was to find himself in a surgery room, back from being almost dead. He took one pain-filled breath and breathed out one word.

* * *

Mary hurried into the hospital where John had called her from. She'd just made it up the stairs towards the ward he'd instructed, when John saw her and called from the hallway: "Mary."

"Hey." She breathed as she made it up the last few steps and John told her, breathless with relief, a small smile on his face: "He's only bloody woken up! He's pulled through."

"Really? Seriously?" She asked in relief and John suddenly said seriously: "Yeah, _you_ , Mrs Watson. You're in big trouble."

"Really? Why?" She asked with an amused smile, and John said, his face becoming teasing although still a little confused: "His first word when he woke up? 'Mary'!"

"Ahh!" She laughed and he chuckled before he hugged her tight, so relieved his friend had pulled through, while a shadow flitted across Mary's face.

* * *

Sherlock P.O.V.

 _"_ _You don't tell him."_

 _Sherlock heard through his drug-induced haze._

 _"_ _Sherlock? You don't tell John."_

 _He vaguely saw Mary's face appear in his line of vision as she ordered: "Look at me – and tell me you're not gonna tell him."_

 _And then the image faded._

Sherlock woke up from his drug-induced sleep to find Janine sitting by his bedside, rifling through newspapers, each with headlines screaming about her relationship with Sherlock.

"I'm buying a cottage." She announced as he slowly focused on her.

She tossed the papers to the side as she told him: "I made a lot of money out of you, mister. Nothing hits the spot like revenge for profits."

He lifted one of the papers to glance at the headline: 'Exclusive Kiss and Tell: 7 times a night at Baker Street; what of Rose-Marie?' He internally groaned.

"You didn't give these stories to Magnussen, did you?" Sherlock asked irritably, and Janine scoffed: "God, no. One of his rivals. He was spittin'."

Sherlock snorted, and she told him straight: "Sherlock Holmes, you are a back-stabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard."

"And you," Sherlock returned as he raised his bed so that he was sitting up, "as it turns out, are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry tabloid whore."

"So we're good, then?" She asked with a small smile.

"Yeah, of course." Sherlock dismissed. It wasn't like he hadn't been prepared for a worse outcome. He added lightly: "Where's the cottage?"

"Sussex Downs." She replied lightly and he hummed in approval: "Hmm, nice."

"It's gorgeous." She told him. "There's beehives, but I'm getting rid of those."

Sherlock tried to sit up a little more, but choked in pain. Janine said with false sympathy: "Aw, hurts, does it? Probably wanna restart your morphine. I might have fiddled with the taps."

"How much more revenge are you going to need?" Sherlock checked as he turned up the morphine, and Janine replied lightly: "Just the occasional top-up."

She glanced around and added derisively: "Dream come true for you, this place. They actually attach the drugs _to_ you."

"Not good for working." Sherlock replied, and she retorted: "You won't be working for a while, Sherl."

Her face finally showed some of her pain as she accused in a low voice: "You lied to me. You lied and lied."

"I exploited the fact of our connection." Sherlock replied lightly and she scoffed: "When?"

"Hmm?" He asked, and she bit out: "Just once would have been nice."

"Oh." Sherlock realized and he said sarcastically: "I was waiting until we got married."

"That was never gonna happen." She muttered scornfully, before she gathered her things, saying lightly: "Got to go. I'm not supposed to keep you talking. And also I have an interview with _The One Show_ and I haven't made it up yet."

She smirked a little and he grunted.

She turned to go, but paused.

She turned back as she finally asked: "Just one thing. When you looked at me, it was always her you saw, wasn't it? Rose-Marie."

Sherlock didn't reply, or maybe he couldn't.

She scoffed: "I thought I knew what kind of man you are… that we could have been friends. But that, that is low even for you."

She wrenched open the door, calling sarcastically over her shoulder: "I'll give your love to John and Mary."

Sherlock watched her leave, and clenched his hands. For one second he closed his eyes and allowed himself to think of the green eyes he loved so much, picturing them shining at him like emeralds.

He took a deep breath, despite the constricting pain in his chest, before turning down the morphine in his system. He closed his eyes again, but this time returned to his mind palace.

 _Mary Watson stood before him as she told him:_ _"_ _You don't tell him. You don't tell John."_

 _"_ _So." Sherlock began as he circled her._

 _Now, there was only one word he could read on her, glaring out at him: 'Liar'._

 _"_ _You're Mary Watson."_

 _He circled her as he asked her sharply: "Who are you?"_

 _She just smiled as he turned away again, whispering thoughtfully: "Mary Watson."_

 _He paused as he remembered the precision with which she'd shot at him_.

Sherlock's eyes opened. He knew exactly who Mary Watson was.

* * *

John P.O.V.

John headed led Lestrade up the stairs, explaining to the DI: "I don't know how much sense you'll get out of him. He's drugged up, so he's pretty much babbling."

Lestrade just vaguely nodded as he pulled out his phone and John glanced at it.

"Oh, well," John began as they reached the top of the stairs, " they won't let you use that in here, you know."

He nodded at the cell, and Lestrade replied easily: "No, I'm not going to use the phone, I just want to take a video."

He grinned and John snorted in amusement, grinning back at the DI. The smile dropped very quickly when he opened the door to Sherlock's ward, only to find the bed empty and the consulting detective missing.

John saw the open window and groaned: "Oh, Jesus."

Lestrade also stared as the wind gently blew the blinds above Sherlock's escape route.

* * *

Mycroft P.O.V.

Mycroft returned to his office in the early evening after a meeting to find the most unexpected guest.

"Should I ask how you got in here?" He asked irritably, and Marie shrugged as she replied: "I allowed myself to be caught by some of your men once I got back in London."

He glanced around pointedly, and she added: "I then disarmed them, before giving them their guns back and suggesting they don't waste my time and just bring me straight here. They did check if I was armed, I'll give them that."

Mycroft sighed as he took a seat at his desk.

"You know, I wonder if I should be happy or not that my brother is engaged to one of the best agents in the world." Mycroft said dryly.

A ghost of a smile passed over Marie's face- of course he would know- before she became serious and she asked: "Why did you let this happen, Mycroft?"

"How did you even know?" Mycroft countered, and Marie scoffed: "How does either of us ever know? John called me."

"Lie." Mycroft pointed out, and Marie shrugged. He nodded with an annoyed sigh, before he asked lightly although he really was curious: "Where were you hiding this past month?"

"Italy." Marie replied slyly and Mycroft, despite himself, snorted.

"I suppose you think you're so clever." He said dryly and she shrugged. He continued as he examined her: "Judging by the speed of your return, I'd say it was northern France or Belgium."

She smiled but made no indication as to whether he was right or not. Her face then became serious as she repeated: "Mycroft, I don't have all night. How did this happen on your watch?

"I warned him not to go after Magnussen, and I cannot care for him now that he has so blatantly disrespected my wishes." Mycroft reminded her.

Marie's eyes narrowed at him and she warned: "If anything else happens to my fiancé, Mycroft, I will be back to kick your arse."

"Assuming you make it out alive after attempting to kill Magnussen?" Mycroft asked lightly, but there was a serious undertone to his comment.

Marie didn't reply as she simply stood up, but Mycroft said seriously: "Marie, I mean it. If you want to ensure Sherlock's safety, I recommend you dissuade him from this case."

She turned her head slightly back to him as he told her: "Magnussen is not someone to be trifled with, and I do not wish to see my brother harmed anymore than you do. You and I both know that is the reason we tolerate each other."

"And I thought it was our charming personalities." Marie said sarcastically.

Mycroft gave her a thin-lipped look and she sighed before jerking her head in a nod, showing she understood. He nodded, satisfied and asked as she began to walk out: "Where will you go now?"

"I have something to do at Baker Street before John returns, unsuccessful in finding Sherlock." Marie replied briskly and Mycroft nodded understandingly.

As she walked out the door, he called after her somewhat reluctantly: "Although it is a month late, congratulations on your engagement."

She simply waved back, not bothering to ask him how he knew when she didn't even have a ring yet. He just always knew… same as the rest of them.

' _Completely messed up group we are.'_ She thought dryly.

* * *

Mary P.O.V.

Mary headed down the streets, walking quickly. She knew, unlike John and Lestrade, that Sherlock wouldn't go to any of his known bolt-holes; the only people to know about it then were Marie, or the people who actively stalked Sherlock: his 'fan-club'.

Sure enough, Anderson had proven very useful, and she was now making her way to Leinster Gardens, where the former Scotland Yard officer had pointed her to. She'd just reached the street corner when a homeless man called to her from where he sat: "Spare any change, love?"

"No." Mary snapped, but the man called after her: "Oh, come on, love. Don't be like all the rest."

Mary paused, almost sighing. She quickly pulled out some coins from her pocket, tossing them carelessly into the man's cup and turning to leave again, when he grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

She turned sharply to see Bill, the observant drug addict from before, but now his eyes were sharp and focused as he told her flatly: "Rule One of looking for Sherlock 'olmes" he covertly slipped a cell phone with ear buds plugged in, "'e finds _you."_

Bill stood up as Mary breathed with a small smirk: "You're working for Sherlock now."

"Keeps me off the streets, dunnit?" Bill replied, and Mary pointed out: "Well, no _._ "

Bill just shrugged as he walked off and the phone in Mary's hand rang. Mary quickly placed the ear bud in her ears as she answered: "Where are you?"

"Can't you see me?" Sherlock asked, somewhat sarcastically but with a hint of seriousness.

Mary caught it and she asked: "Well, what am I looking for?"

"The lie." Sherlock replied softly as Mary walked down the street. "The lie of Leinster Gardens, hidden in plain sight. Hardly anyone notices. People live here for years and never see it, but if you are what I think you are, it'll take you less than a minute."

Mary glanced around again, still confused, and Sherlock hinted: "The houses, Mary. Look at the houses."

Mary did as he said while asking sharply: "How did you know I'd come here?"

"I knew you'd talk to the people no-one else would bother with." Sherlock replied easily and Mary scoffed, slightly put out as she murmured: "I thought I was being clever."

"You're always clever, Mary. I was relying on that. I planted the information for you to find." Sherlock countered, and Mary retorted: "Well, you have _personal_ experience with people like me, don't you…"

She trailed off from her not so subtle jibes at his relationship with Marie as she saw what he had hinted at.

"Ohh." She breathed and Sherlock noted, sounding impressed: "Thirty seconds."

"What am I looking at?" Mary asked as she examined the pair of houses before her and Sherlock explained: "No door knobs, no letter box, painted windows. 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens... the empty houses. They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for the old steam trains. Only the very front section of the house remains. It's just a façade."

Mary's eyes narrowed and Sherlock asked quietly: "Remind you of anyone, Mary? A façade."

Mary was ready to retort a snappish answer, when there was a click and an image of her face from her wedding was projected on the houses.

"Sorry. I never could resist a touch of drama." Sherlock apologized, sounding completely unapologetic. Mary glanced around, even though she knew it would be futile to look for the projector. Her opponent was too clever for that.

She turned back to the houses as Sherlock invited: "Do come in. It's a little cramped."


	18. Secrets

"Do you own this place?" Mary asked as she walked slowly towards the door, and Sherlock replied lightly: "Mmm. I won it in a card game with the Clarence House Cannibal. Nearly cost me my kidneys, but fortunately I had a straight flush."

Mary slowly made her way inside the empty house as Sherlock remarked: "Quite a gambler, that woman."

Inside, it was just a narrow passage for maintenance purposes, but Mary spotted a figure sitting at the far end of the hallway hidden mostly in the shadows but the upturned coat was very distinctive.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" Mary asked quietly, her voice shaking just a little as she reached a hand into her pocket.

Sherlock replied monotonously: "Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where, five years ago, you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity."

Mary slowly began to walk down towards the figure as Sherlock noted: "That's why you don't have 'friends' from before that date."

Her eyes narrowed as she remembered Sherlock commenting on her much smaller list of guests for the wedding. She should've known it would come back to bite her.

Sherlock continued: "It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognise a skip-code on sight."

She clenched her fist; she'd known she would rue that day when John had almost been burnt alive. She'd been so worried about John that she'd slipped up as she showed Sherlock the phone message, and she had caught Sherlock's inquiring glance at her when she had.

"Have extraordinarily retentive memories…" Sherlock added, and Mary pursed her lips. Why did she have to always let something slip when she was worried? She'd been in a hurry to save Major Sholto, and…

"You were very slow." Mary reminded him.

He acknowledged it, and he asked slowly: "How good a shot are you?"

Mary pulled her hand from her pocket, cocking the gun as she asked flatly: "How badly do you want to find out?"

"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it." Sherlock pointed out. "Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that."

Mary nodded once, conceding the point.

"I want to know how good you are." Sherlock commented and Mary replied tightly: "I'm not as good as your girlfriend."

"Doesn't matter- you're still very good aren't you?" He countered and Mary's grip on her gun tightened.

"Go on." Sherlock almost purred. "Show me. The doctor's wife must be a little bit bored by now."

Mary finally reached into her pocket and pulled out a coin. Tossing it high into the air, she fired quickly, letting the coin fall just slightly behind her feet. She turned back to the figure expectantly, then tensed as Sherlock hung up and asked from behind her: "May I see?"

Mary examined the figure in the shadows briefly, and scoffed: "A dummy."

She turned to face the real detective, taking out the ear buds as she muttered: "I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick."

She faced Sherlock, who was leaning slightly against Marie. Mary's eyes narrowed- she hadn't heard either of them behind her, and hadn't even sensed the woman's presence. Only to be expected from the world's most dangerous couple, she supposed.

Sherlock was still extremely pale, though he seemed more or less in control of his body, but his face was emotionless as he watched her. Mary glanced at him briefly, but it was the woman Mary focused most of her attention on. There was no trace of the friendly woman Mary had come to know in the cold agent before her, and the hairs on the back of Mary's neck rose as she stared into Marie's flinty green eyes.

Mary glanced down where one of Marie's hands was casually sitting inside her jacket pocket and probably not-so-casually holding a gun. Sherlock saw her glance down and promised: "She won't use it if you don't. Now, may I see?" He repeated.

Mary stared hard at the pair for a moment before she slowly took a step forward and kicked the coin towards Sherlock. He slowly bent down to pick it up, gripping Marie's arm for support even as Marie's eyes never left Mary's, and he murmured: "And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot."

He examined the coin with the bullet hole right through it, slightly off-centred. He continued in a pained voice but very calmly: "Enough to hospitalise me; not enough to kill me. That wasn't a miss _._ "

He looked right at Mary as her eyes slid to his once more.

"That was surgery _._ " He stated. Mary almost smiled, but her situation was too grim and she only acknowledged his words by lowering her gaze and bowing her head just slightly.

Sherlock examined her before saying flatly: "I'll take the case."

"What case?" Mary asked, looking right at him sadly, and Sherlock replied pointedly: "Yours."

He stared at Mary hard as he asked her sternly: "Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"

Mary glanced at Marie before she turned back to Sherlock and replied flatly: "Because John can't ever know that I lied to him."

She gazed between the pair as she continued softly: "It would break him and I would lose him forever, and Sherlock, I will never let that happen."

Marie's face was set, unmoving, while Sherlock began to turn away. Mary begged them: "Please."

Sherlock paused to look back at her as she warned quietly: "Understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening."

Her eyes moved to Marie's as she pleaded in a low voice: "You know what it feels like, Marie. John is my whole world, as Sherlock is yours. Please, understand."

Marie didn't move as Sherlock replied softly: "Sorry."

He turned back to the control panel on the side of the wall as he told Mary flatly: "Not that obvious a trick."

He flipped the light switch, and Marie watched impassively as Mary's face filled with horror, already knowing what they had done. Mary turned back slowly to face what she'd thought was a dummy, her eyes filling with tears as John slowly stood up.

His face was set in cold anger as he slowly pulled down his jacket collar, while Sherlock said to them quietly: "Now talk, and sort it out. Do it quickly."

John slowly walked down the passage, his eyes never leaving Mary, before he came to a stiff stop a few paces away. Mary was gasping quietly, her shock and fear making her tremble a little, while Sherlock and Marie watched emotionlessly from behind.

* * *

 _Five months later, at the Holmes residence_

The radio was playing 'Hark the Herald' and Mycroft moaned: "Oh, dear God, it's only two o'clock. It's been Christmas Day for at least a week now."

Marie grinned a little from her spot beside Mrs. Holmes, helping the older woman place all the Christmas crackers in a basket for later. Mycroft continued complaining from his seat at the kitchen table: "How can it only be two o'clock? I'm in agony."

Sherlock was frowning as he read the front page of the newspaper, while Mrs. Holmes suddenly asked in disbelief: "Mikey, is this your laptop?"

She indicated a laptop on the table that she'd just noticed besides the Christmas cracker basket. Mycroft sat up and said with a mirthless smile: "Upon which depends the security of the free world, yes, and you've got potatoes on it."

He finished with a spat as he nodded at the chopping board that Mrs. Holmes had been cutting potatoes on. Marie chuckled while Sherlock had a finger pressed to his temple in thought, a frown gracing his features, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

Marie noticed and frowned, while Mrs. Holmes just retorted to the elder brother: "Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important."

Marie had meanwhile walked over to Sherlock, touching his shoulder and glancing down at the paper still on his lap. Her face fell as she read: 'Lord Smallwood suicide'. Sherlock glanced at her, and reached up to clasp his hand on hers, squeezing it gently as she held his shoulder.

She moved to carefully sit on the arm of his chair as Mycroft asked in exasperation: "Why are we doing this? We never do this."

She glanced over in some amusement as Mrs. Holmes said with forced calm: "We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are _all_ very happy." She said pointedly.

Mycroft just sneered: "Am I happy too? I haven't checked."

Sherlock smirked while Mrs. Holmes pleaded in exasperation: "Behave, Mike."

"'Mycroft' is the name you gave me," Mycroft snapped, "if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end."

Mrs. Holmes pursed her lips but Bill interrupted: "Mrs Holmes?"

He handed her a glass of punch and Mrs. Holmes took it gratefully though she was confused as she said: "Oh! Thank you, dear. Not absolutely sure why you're here."

"I invited him." Sherlock spoke at last, leaning back in his seat.

Mrs. Holmes looked surprised but Bill added: "I'm his protégé, Mrs 'olmes. When 'e dies, I get all his stuff, an' 'is job."

Mrs. Holmes paused mid-sip, staring at the man in shock, while Sherlock didn't even look up from the paper he'd picked up again as he just said flatly: "No."

"Oh. Well, I help out a bit." Bill muttered, glancing at Sherlock who replied nonchalantly: "Closer."

Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft turned back to look at Bill, the woman still horrified while the man simply raised his brows. Bill replied quietly: "If 'e _does_ get murdered or something…"

Mycroft lifted his eyes to the sky irritably while Sherlock commented monotonously: "Probably stop talking now."

"Okay." Bill murmured, and Mycroft said bitingly: "Lovely when you bring your friends round."

"Stop it, you." Mrs. Holmes scolded. "Somebody's put a bullet in my boy, and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous."

She growled before she remembered the Christmas crackers and a pot of tea she'd set aside.

"Ah. This was for Mary. I'll be back in a minute." She called as she left the kitchen, before she paused and smacked Sherlock's shoulder.

He looked at her incredulously, but she scolded him: "And you, is that how you should treat your wife? Move and let Marie sit down!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he shifted out of the comfortable armchair, even as Marie began to protest: "Oh, no, Mrs. Holmes, I'm fine-"

"Don't give me that." Mrs. Holmes interrupted. "I raised my boys to be good gentlemen, and that's what I expect them to always be. So you just rest, dear, you've moved about far too much. You didn't have to help, you know."

Marie smiled as she Mrs. Holmes walked out, while Sherlock steered her into his seat. Bill handed her a cup of tea, and she took it with a nod of thanks, not noticing as Sherlock glance at his watch thoughtfully behind her back.

In the living room, Mrs. Holmes called: "Ah, Mary. There you are."

Mary looked up with a smile from her seat on the sofa, placing her book down as Mrs. Holmes held out a teacup, saying: "Cup of tea."

Mary took it gratefully as Mrs. Holmes added: "Now, if Father starts making little humming noises," she nodded to Mr. Holmes who was poking the fire in the fireplace, "just give him a little poke. That usually does it."

She chuckled, and Mary joined in lightly before asking incredulously as she lifted the book she'd been reading: "Did you write this?"

Mrs. Holmes glanced at the title: 'The Dynamics of Combustion', and then said dismissively: "Oh, that silly old thing. You mustn't read that. Mathematics must seem terribly fatuous now!"

Mary stared at her in surprise, but Mrs. Holmes simply turned to her husband and scolded fondly: "Now, no humming, you!"

She patted the man's backside chidingly before she left the living room, taking Marie with her as she showed her to a comfortable chair

"Complete flake, my wife, but happens to be a genius." Mr. Holmes told Mary, who smiled at him warmly.

She glanced at Mrs. Holmes retreating back and asked in amazement: "She was a mathematician?"

"Gave it all up for children." Mr. Holmes explained. "I could never bear to argue with her. I'm something of a moron myself. But she's... unbelievably hot."

He grinned, and Mary laughed as she said in awe: "Oh my God. You're the sane one, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?" He countered, and Mary just smiled.

The door opened and John walked in, looking surprised to see Mr. Holmes as he mumbled: "Oh. Sorry."

Mary quickly opened the book and began flipping through it again while Mr. Holmes glanced between the pair as John walked in nervously, saying distractedly: "I-I just, er..."

"Oh." Mr. Holmes realized and he said quickly: "Er-er, do you two need a moment?"

"If you don't mind." John said hastily, and Mary glanced at them, looking almost alarmed at being left with John.

Mr. Holmes pretended not to notice as he excused himself: "No, of course not. I'll-I'll go and see if I can help with ... something or another."

He quickly left the room, kindly shutting the door behind him. Sherlock was standing there, putting on his coat to get some air outside, and Mr. Holmes asked his son concernedly: "Those two. They all right?"

"Well, you know…" Sherlock murmured back quietly, "they've had their ups and downs."

* * *

 _Five months earlier_

The two couples stood in the lie of Leinster Gardens, and as neither John nor Mary seemed able to speak, Sherlock ordered quietly: "Baker Street. Now."

He turned and led Marie away with him. John stared silently fuming at Mary for one more second before he strode past and Mary whimpered, her eyes shining with repressed tears.

 _A few minutes later_

John wrenched open the door to 221B, walking into the sitting room. Mary followed slowly behind, while Marie helped Sherlock up the stairs as they brought up the rear. Mrs. Hudson looked up quickly from her place in the kitchen and she called anxiously: "John."

He glanced at the landlady as Mary walked inside and Mrs. Hudson gasped in surprise: "Mary."

Mary just nodded silently in greeting, as Sherlock and Marie walked in and Mrs. Hudson gasped: "Oh, Rose-Marie, Sherlock. Oh, good gracious, you look terrible. Rose-Marie, dear, where have you been?"

Marie just shook her head while Sherlock ordered flatly, trying to repress the pain: "Get me some morphine from your kitchen. I've run out."

"I don't have any morphine." Mrs. Hudson protested, and Sherlock snapped at her: "Then what _exactly_ is the point of you?"

Mrs. Hudson glared and she asked the tense room: "What _is_ going on?"

"Bloody good question." John muttered as Marie left Sherlock, slipping downstairs while Sherlock explained: "The Watsons are about to have a domestic, and fairly quickly, I hope, because we've got work to do."

"Oh, I have a better question." John retorted, and he turned with hard eyes to his wife as he asked: "Is everyone I've ever met a psychopath?"

Sherlock thought about it and then replied shortly: "Yes."

Mary also nodded once, lowering her gaze sadly, and Sherlock muttered as Marie returned carrying an injection: "Good that we've settled that. Now, we…"

"Shut up!" John shouted furiously, his fists clenched tightly as he turned to his best friend. Mrs. Hudson jumped, Sherlock shut his mouth, and Marie ignored them as she pulled up Sherlock's sleeves.

John didn't look at the brunette woman, focusing solely on the other man as he said flatly: "And stay shut up, because this is _not_ funny. Not this time."

"I didn't say it was funny." Sherlock pointed out as Marie stabbed the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath as the morphine hit his system, while John turned to Mary and said darkly: "You."

Mary almost flinched at the deep anger beneath John's calm tone as he asked, breathing heavily: "What have I ever done? Hmm? My whole life, to deserve you?"

"Everything _._ " Sherlock told him, and Marie held his arm warningly as John turned and said flatly: "Sherlock, I've told you, shut up."

"No, I mean it, seriously." Sherlock replied, ignoring Marie. "Everything. Everything you've ever done is what you did."

Mrs. Hudson looked between the arguing pair anxiously while Marie sighed. John said slowly and distinctly: "Sherlock, one more word and you will not need to wait for that morphine to spread."

Sherlock ignored that too as he pointed out, starting to lean more heavily on Marie: "You were a doctor who went to war. You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie."

John's jaw locked, but Sherlock continued harshly: "Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. That's me, by the way. Hello."

He waved a little, then pointed at Marie as he went on: "Your other best friend is an ex-assassin, who now works for the secret service and is currently engaged to your sociopath best friend."

John started at that, staring at Marie's empty left hand in shock and confusion while she shifted sheepishly. Sherlock ignored it as he added: "Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel."

"It was my husband's cartel. I was just typing." Mrs. Hudson corrected pointedly.

"And exotic dancing." Sherlock replied, and John could only stare in disbelief while Mrs. Hudson said angrily: "Sherlock Holmes, if you've been YouTube-ing-"

"John," Sherlock interrupted exasperated, "you are addicted to a certain lifestyle."

He grit his teeth against the pain that still swirled in his body as he pointed out: "You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people, so is it truly such a surprise," he softened his voice as he tried to soften the blow, "that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?"

"But she wasn't supposed to be like that." John protested, pointing at Mary as his voice broke. Mary lowered her eyes while Marie averted her own; despite her own anger at the blonde woman, she could understand too well how much that blow would hurt.

John didn't look at them as he asked Sherlock desperately: "Why is she," he gestured at Mary again, "like that?"

"Because you chose her." Sherlock told him honestly.

Marie wanted to hit Sherlock for saying it so bluntly, but then again, he had said only the truth so she just stayed silent. John's face went slack, before it was replaced with anger and he asked slowly: "Why is everything ... always _... my fault!_ "

He yelled, kicking a chair in fury.

"Oh, the neighbours!" Mrs. Hudson whimpered as she jumped, before she scurried out unable to handle the situation any longer.

Sherlock ignored her as he said firmly: "John, listen. Be calm and answer me. What is she?"

"My lying wife?" John snarled as he glared at Mary, who looked down again, unable to bear looking at the anger on his face. Sherlock repeated: "No. What is she?"

"And the woman who's carrying my child who has lied to me since the day I met her?" John growled, staring at Mary accusingly.

She looked up at him, her hurt reflected in her eyes, and Marie looked away again while Sherlock corrected: "No. Not in this flat; not in this room. Right here, right now, what is she?"

There was a beat of silence, before John finally turned away, muttering: "Okay."

He looked back at Mary as he said to Sherlock scornfully: "Your way. Always your way."

His voice was calmer now, but he couldn't hide the anger as it simmered just below the surface. John grabbed a chair from the desk, and placed it in the centre of the room, ordering Mary: "Sit."

"Why?" She asked quietly, and John snapped with forced calm: "Because that's where they sit. The people who come in here with their stories."

Mary's jaw clenched as she fought the hurt while John said harshly: "Th-the clients, that's all you are now, Mary. You're a client."

Marie took a sharp breath, feeling the sting for Mary as Sherlock's hand clenched around hers.

Mary stared mutely at John as he finished sternly: "This is where you sit and talk, and this is where we sit and listen," he indicated the two armchairs beside the wooden desk chair, "then we decide if we want you or not."

With that, he sat in the armchair Marie had replaced in the living room on Sherlock's orders, right after he'd escaped the hospital. Mary stood trying not to show her pain, while Marie slowly helped Sherlock into his own armchair.

Her green eyes met Mary's blue ones, and Mary swallowed as she finally saw a hint of sympathy. Mary had been right, Marie did know too well what it would feel like to be in Mary's shoes. Marie nodded at the chair and Mary took a deep breath before slowly walking towards it and carefully settled herself in it.


	19. Truth

_At the Holmes residence_

John stood by the wall as he glanced at Mary before saying awkwardly: "So, are you okay?"

She glanced at him in some surprise before asking sarcastically: "Oh! Are we doing conversation today? It really is Christmas."

John just silently dug out the flash drive from his pocket, showing the letters written across it: 'A.G.R.A.'. Mary's face fell, and she scoffed, asking with a quivering voice: "Now?"

John nodded and she stared at him incredulously.

"Seriously?" She asked even as her voice shook. "Months of silence and we're gonna do _this_ ," she spat as she nodded at the flash drive, "now?"

* * *

 _Five months earlier_

Mary silently placed a flash drive on the table beside John's armchair, beside the 'Claire de Lune' perfume bottle that Marie had left as a clue for John before Sherlock called him to Leinster Garden. The clue that had made him realize why Sherlock had run away from the hospital.

They all glanced at it, and Sherlock frowned as he asked: "'A.G.R.A.' What's that?"

Mary glanced at Sherlock, before she looked at John and answered shakily: "Er ... my initials."

John's face set into another expression of hard anger, while Sherlock's lips thinned and he glanced at his friend concernedly. Marie had leaned back thoughtfully, her arms crossed as Mary added to John quickly, as though wanting to get this over with as soon as possible: " Everything about who I was is on there."

She paused then added bitingly: "If you love me, don't read it in front of me."

"Why?" John demanded, and Mary replied, her face twisting with pain: "Because you won't love me when you've finished. And I don't want to see that happen." She begged.

John stared at her for a moment, before he grabbed the flash drive and pocketed it with a sigh. Mary took a deep breath before asking Sherlock: "How much d'you know already? I can see Marie's already worked out who I am."

"By your skill set," Sherlock replied in a soft murmur, "you are, or _were_ , an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English but I suspect you are not."

He glanced at Marie, who nodded in confirmation.

"You're on the run from something; you've used your skills to disappear. Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him; and I assume you befriended Janine, in order to get close to him." Sherlock finished with a pained grimace.

Marie glanced at him worriedly, while Mary retorted: "Oh, you can talk."

"Ohhh. Look at you two. You should have got married, if it weren't for the other psychopath in the room." John said scathingly.

Sherlock's eyes had narrowed at him while Marie's face had gone blank as it only did when she was so shocked she couldn't control her emotions. John couldn't find it in him to care at the moment as he fought to stay calm, and Mary told him flatly: "The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life."

"So you were just gonna kill him." John scoffed.

Mary replied harshly: "People like Magnussen should be killed. That's why there are people like me and Marie."

"Perfect." John muttered sarcastically. He stared at Mary as he demanded: "So that's what you were? An assassin? Like her?"

He nodded at Marie, who stiffened while Sherlock's gaze at John had now become just as harsh.

John ignored it as he muttered: "How could I not see that?"

"You did see that." Marie retorted snappishly.

He glared at her but Mary added in a quiet voice: "And you still married me. Because he's right." She nodded at Sherlock. "It's what you like."

John had no words for that, and Mary just stared at him defeatedly, before Sherlock broke in: "So, _Mary_ ," she turned to him, ignoring the slight sarcastic tone with which he'd said the name, "any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want extracted and returned."

"Why would you help me?" Mary demanded, and Sherlock nodded at Marie.

"Because I happen to understand your dilemma on a very ' _personal'_ level," he quoted her jibe at him from earlier and Mary averted her gaze ashamedly, "and because you saved my life." Sherlock finished gently.

Mary stared at him mutely, and John asked startled: "Sor-sorry, what?"

Sherlock explained: "When I happened on you," he nodded at Mary, "and Magnussen, you had a problem. More specifically, you had a witness."

"The solution, of course, was simple." Sherlock continued calmly. "Kill us both and leave."

John clenched his fists, but Sherlock pointed out: "However, sentiment got the better of you."

He nodded at John, who frowned. "One precisely-calculated shot to incapacitate me in the hope that it would bide you more time to negotiate my silence. Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen. On the night that both of us broke into the building, your own husband would become a suspect."

Sherlock took a deep breath and Marie reached for his hand as he continued: "So... you calculated that Magnussen would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police as is his M.O. And then you left the way you came."

He clutched Marie's hand tightly as he asked tightly: "Have I missed anything?"

"How did she save your life?" John asked quietly, and Marie answered, worried about Sherlock as he hissed in pain: "She phoned the ambulance."

" _I_ phoned the ambulance." John corrected, but Marie told him: "She phoned first. And then she phoned me."

John frowned, ready to protest, and Sherlock explained: "You didn't find me for another five minutes. Left to you, I would have died and Marie wouldn't have made it back to London on time."

Sherlock checked his watch as he told them: "The average arrival time for a London ambulance is…"

John turned as he heard footsteps and blinked as paramedics rushed into the flat asking: "Did somebody call an ambulance?"

"Eight minutes." Sherlock commented as John stood up in shock.

Sherlock added to the medics: "Did you bring any morphine? Marie should've asked on the phone."

"We were told there was a shooting." The paramedic said, looking confused.

"There was, last week," Sherlock informed them, "but I believe I'm bleeding internally and my pulse is very erratic."

He started to stand, leaning in on Marie as he added: "You may need to re-start my heart," his legs gave out and Marie clutched him, "on the way."

"Sherlock." John said worriedly, also coming to steady his friend as the paramedics rushed over.

Marie's face was hard as she tried to fight the fear that was clawing inside her heart while Sherlock turned to John and breathed: "John. John, Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary. She saved my life."

"She shot you." John muttered back, and Sherlock conceded: "Er, mixed messages, I grant you. That is a-"

He broke off as his heart gave out, and Marie gently lowered him to the medics as John asked worriedly: "Sherlock? Sherlock."

The medics grabbed him and John asked desperately as Marie continued to clutch Sherlock's hand: "All right, take him. Got him?"

"Yeah." The medic replied distractedly as he pulled out an oxygen mask, working over the gasping detective. Marie held onto his hand tightly, not looking away, while John briefly glanced at Mary as they stood above the other couple, before he looked away again, unable to bear the sight of her.

* * *

 _At the Holmes residence_

"So, have you read it?" Mary asked with forced calm, and John looked down at the flash drive.

He asked slowly as he walked to stand before the fireplace: "W-would you come here a moment?"

"No. Tell me. Have you?" Mary asked quietly, and John said tightly: "Just _..._ come here."

Mary clenched her hands together anxiously before she slowly stood up, holding her bulging stomach. John moved to help her but she quickly dismissed it as she said tightly: "No, I'm fine."

John stepped back again, and Mary slowly stood before him, staring at the ground as she was unable to meet his eyes. John murmured: "I've thought long and hard about what I want to say to you."

She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his and John told her firmly: "These are prepared words, Mary. I've chosen these words with care."

"Okay." Mary said quickly, just wanting him to tell her, even if it was to tell her he hated her.

John cleared his throat and he looked down before he looked her straight in the eye and said quietly: "The problems of your past are your business."

Mary stared at him, unable to believe what he was saying as John said softly: "The problems of your future… are my privilege. It's all I have to say. It's all I need to know."

He looked back at the flash drive and Mary's eyes filled with tears as he threw the drive into the fireplace before telling her: "No, I didn't read it."

The tears spilled over and Mary whispered, her voice breaking: "You don't even know my name."

"Is 'Mary Watson' good enough for you?" John asked, and Mary sobbed: "Yes! Oh my God, yes."

"Then it's good enough for me, too." John told her firmly, before he reached in and hugged his wife.

She sobbed into his shoulder, all the fear, worry and pain washing away, and John added: "All this does not mean that I'm not still basically pissed off with you."

"I know, I know." Mary replied quickly, and John added: "I am very pissed off, and it will come out now and then."

"I know, I know, I know." Mary replied, although now it was more like she was soothing him as John also let the hurt in his heart melt away.

They pulled back a little, staring at each other lovingly, and John added: "You can mow the sodding lawn from now on."

"I do mow the lawn." Mary pointed out, and John muttered defiantly: "No, I do it loads."

"You really don't." She retorted, and John tried instead: "I choose the baby's name."

Mary snorted as she scoffed: "Not a chance."

"Okay." John replied easily and they hugged again tightly, each sighing in relief as they saw hope once more.

* * *

"I'm glad you've given up on the Magnussen business." Mycroft commented as he walked with his younger brother to stand outside the house, and Sherlock challenged: "Are you?"

Mycroft smirked briefly before he asked suddenly: "I'm still curious, though. He's hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you ... hate him?"

"Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets." Sherlock snapped back. Mycroft raised his brows.

"So, you were worried he'd come after your wife." He stated more than asked, saying the last word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Sherlock paused before he muttered: "It was part of the reason."

Mycroft snorted, and Sherlock asked him, genuinely curious: "Why don't you hate him?"

"He never causes too much damage to anyone important." Mycroft shrugged as he lit his cigarette. "He's far too intelligent for that."

Sherlock scoffed as he puffed on his own cigarette, but Mycroft continued: "He's a business-man, that's all, and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil- not a dragon for you to slay."

"A dragon slayer." Sherlock scoffed. "Is that what you think of me?"

"No. It's what you think of yourself." Mycroft pointed out.

Sherlock didn't reply, just took another puff of his cigarette, when the front door opened behind them and Mrs. Holmes demanded, scandalized: "Are you two smoking?"

Both turned quickly to her, Mycroft saying: "No!"

"It was Mycroft." Sherlock said at the same time as they both hid their cigarettes behind their backs.

Their mother narrowed her eyes at them, staring at them sternly as she closed the door again with pursed lips. Sherlock let out his breath, releasing the smoke, before they turned back towards the front gate.

Mycroft commented lightly: "I have, by the way, a job offer I- and your wife- should like you to decline."

"I decline your kind offer." Sherlock said slowly, and Mycroft smiled as he said graciously: "I shall pass on your regrets."

"What was it?" Sherlock asked puzzled, and Mycroft answered airily: "MI6. They want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months."

Sherlock paused mid-smoke and he asked incredulously: "Then why don't _you_ want me to take it?"

Mycroft turned to him and said flatly: "It's tempting. But on balance you have more utility closer to home."

"Utility." Sherlock scoffed. "How do I have utility?"

"'Here be dragons'." Mycroft replied, and Sherlock paused.

Mycroft then coughed and muttered as he held his cigarette out in disgust: "This isn't agreeing with me. I'm going in."

He dropped the cigarette, grinding it under his foot as he turned back to the house.

"You need low tar. You still smoke like a beginner." Sherlock taunted after his brother.

Mycroft paused before the front door and added slowly: "Also," Sherlock was preparing to ignore him as he drew on his cigarette again, "your loss would break my heart."

Sherlock coughed at the unexpected words, and he spat: "What the _hell_ am I supposed to say to that?"

Mycroft smiled as he turned back to his brother, pausing before he offered as an excuse: "'Merry Christmas'?"

"You hate Christmas." Sherlock retorted and Mycroft replied easily: "Yes. Perhaps there was something in the punch."

"Clearly. Go and have some more." Sherlock retorted, and Mycroft turned back to the house, calling over his shoulder: "Or perhaps, it's the impending doom that is to be my niece or nephew."

Sherlock paused mid-smoke once more as Mycroft disappeared back into the house. His eyes unfocused as he remembered the day Marie had told him.

* * *

 _One day in early August_

"They haven't spoken to each other in a month now, Sherlock. If this goes on any longer, I'm seriously worried about what'll happen between them." Marie murmured worriedly as they sat curled on the sofa.

He replied quietly: "We have to let them work it out themselves first. Trust that John will make the right choice."

She sighed as she leaned back into his shoulder, although she did so carefully. Sherlock was still recovering, and she certainly didn't want to accidentally make him reopen his stitches. Sherlock watched her closely, frowning slightly.

She'd been hiding something from him this past week, and he hated that he had no idea what it was. It was one of the many times he cursed that he wasn't able to read her when she didn't want him to. Usually it was just mild irritation at his lack of ability, but this time he was worried about her too.

She continuously fidgeted with her hands, and she would start to look like she wanted to tell him something, only to change her mind and stay quiet. It was enough to drive him crazy, but what worried him was that she looked almost afraid. With the Magnussen case still open, he was plagued with the fear that it was him, that C.A.M. had come calling.

Marie fidgeted again, and he looked at her concernedly but also expecting her to close him out again. So he was surprised when she took a shaky breath and sat up, turning to him as she suddenly confessed: "Sherlock, there's something you really need to know."

Sherlock peered at her, searching her eyes as he asked worriedly: "Is it about what you've been hiding from me?"

She nodded, not surprised that he'd noticed. She took a deep breath and he blinked as she said rather abruptly: "Sherlock, you are quite possibly the most immature man I have met."

He frowned but she just went on: "But the fact remains that I love-"

"You already agreed to marry me when I proposed at John's wedding; I don't need you to tell me you love me again in such a serious manner." He pointed out but she shook her head.

"Sherlock, you're going to be a father." Marie said quietly.

She watched as Sherlock didn't move, still looking straight at her but she knew it was because he was frozen with surprise. She waited as his mouth finally parted and a look of absolute shock began to spread across his face.

"What?" He asked.

"Sherlock, I'm two months pregnant." Marie said in a low voice. "I found out three weeks ago when I noticed my period hadn't come in as long a time and… I guess you could say I had a bad feeling about it."

His mouth opened and closed, and for once in his life Sherlock Holmes was rendered absolutely speechless as his mind completely blanked.

"And you're sure?" He asked, and she nodded.

"I took three tests and had Mycroft dispose of them carefully. I thought it best not to check further until I spoke with you. But I couldn't find the right time to tell you, between you being hospitalized and John and Mary still being..." She sighed as she admitted.

Sherlock's face slowly shifted from shock to into something Marie had not expected- joy.

"We're going to have a child." He said in a low voice, reaching down to softly touch Marie's stomach, which as of yet was showing nothing. She looked at him in surprise and he noticed.

"What?" He asked and she said slowly: "Nothing, it's just… I didn't expect you to be… happy about having a kid."

"It's not 'a kid', it's our child." He pointed out and Marie's face broke into a relieved smile.

He examined her and murmured: "So that's what was worrying you. You thought I'd hate the thought of a child."

She nodded and said a little defensively: "To be fair, you would've been if it had been under any other circumstance."

"If it had been any other situation, yes." He agreed seriously. "But with my wife? Never."

She giggled a little at that as she pointed out: "I'm not your wife yet."

He shrugged.

"Formalities." He replied carelessly.

He kissed her again, but as she wrapped her arms around his neck he pulled back again. She blinked at him but he was looking thoughtful as he said slowly: "So, our child was conceived on John's…"

"Don't say it." Marie interjected. Sherlock's eyes were shining with mirth but he did as she said, leaning down to kiss her once more.

The pair quietly registered their marriage two days later at Mycroft's mansion, with John, Mary and Mycroft as their only other witnesses as Sherlock softly kissed his wife.

* * *

Marie stepped outside, leaning on the front door after Mycroft had gone inside. Sherlock glanced back at her and quickly put out his cigarette before walking over.

"Smoking isn't good for the baby." He chided her softly and she shrugged, replying lightly: "Which is why you shouldn't have been smoking."

He rolled his eyes at that, but smiled softly for her as he kissed her, his hand coming to rest on hers as she lightly held the bump that was now beginning to show more prominently.

"'Let them sort it out themselves'?" Marie teased and Sherlock replied lightly: "It worked."

Marie nodded as she said softly: "You parents are really lovely, and it was a good idea to bring John and Mary to see really the best example of what married life should look like."

"Hm." Sherlock replied, clearly disagreeing, and she chuckled.

"Don't bother to act otherwise, we're not exactly a good example." Marie laughed and Sherlock protested: "I love you, you love me, we're pregnant, and we're happy. What else do you need?"

" _I_ don't need anything else." Marie pointed out as she smiled up at him. "I was just saying, two ex-intelligence agents are probably not the best example John needs to see right now."

Sherlock's eyes lit up as he picked up on the word, and he asked, trying to sound casual: "You're retiring?"

"Retired." Marie told him with a small smile.

A smile began to spread on his face as she told him: "Mycroft officially closed my file. Said it was a wedding present, but I think he did it mostly for you."

Sherlock frowned as he asked: "Why would you think that?"

She began to say something when Marie felt her head beginning to spin.

"Sherlock!" She gasped and he quickly caught her as she began to stagger, but she looked up at him in pure horror.

"What did you do?" Marie whispered, terrified, and Sherlock gave her a sad smile.

"It'll be over when you wake up." He promised and she begged him as she began to lose consciousness: "Promise you'll be careful. Sherlock, plea…"

He held her carefully as she passed out completely, holding her close for one more second before he quickly took her inside. John was settling an unconscious Mary in the living room sofa, calling her in alarm, when Sherlock walked in carrying Marie.

John started, fear starting to grip him at the sight, but Sherlock just carefully set his wife on the sofa and told John casually: "Don't drink Mary's tea."

He then left the room, leaving John to stare in shock at the two passed out women, when Sherlock added from the hallway: "Oh, or the punch."

John followed him and seeing Mr. Holmes passed out in the entrance hall, called: "Sherlock?"

He followed Sherlock into the kitchen to see Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft also passed out, and John demanded furiously: "Did you just drug my pregnant wife?"

"Yes, and I also drugged my own pregnant wife." Sherlock pointed out as he whipped on his scarf.

John's eyes narrowed even further, but Sherlock replied shortly: "Don't worry. Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

Bill explained to a stunned John: "I calculated your wife's dose meself. Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on 'er."

"He'll monitor their recovery. It's more or less his day job." Sherlock added and John's eyes widened in the same horror as Marie's had.

"What the hell have you done?" John demanded through grit teeth, and Sherlock paused, gripping his jacket lapels as he answered in a low voice: "A deal with the devil."


	20. Appledore

_Some months earlier_

Sherlock sat eating lunch at a nearby restaurant. He was still dressed in his hospital garb and his IV drip was dangling from its portable stand as he sat, waiting patiently as he chewed his food. Marie was at Mary's, helping the pregnant woman seeing as John was still very much at odds with his wife, and Sherlock fully planned to use the opportunity that had presented itself.

The canteen door squeaked, and a well-dressed man entered, commenting: "Shouldn't you be in hospital?"

"I _am_ in hospital." Sherlock replied, not even looking up from his food. "This is the canteen."

"Is it?" Magnussen asked dryly as he looked around the empty family restaurant, and Sherlock retorted calmly: "In my opinion, yes. Have a seat."

He gestured at the open chair across from him as he set down his fork. Marie would probably have yelled at him for not finishing his food, but he was proud that he'd at least eaten most of it as he'd waited.

"Thank you." Magnussen commented as he sat down in the offered seat.

Sherlock finally looked at the man as Magnussen sat, and as the blonde man made himself comfortable, Sherlock began lightly: "I've been thinking about you."

"I've been thinking about _you_." Magnussen returned just as calmly.

Sherlock's face betrayed no emotions as he questioned: "Really?"

He leaned back and pressed the buttons on his morphine drip, lowering the dosage. Again, Marie would probably kill him, but Marie would never know. At least, not until everything was over.

"I want to see Appledore," Sherlock told Magnussen bluntly as he switched off his drip, "where you keep all the secrets, all the files, everything you've got on everyone. I want you to invite me."

He levelled a calm, but dark look at Magnussen as he finished, letting the other man think through his offer. Magnussen was examining Sherlock with a similar expression, and he asked softly: "What makes you think I'd be so careless?"

"Oh, I think you're a lot more 'careless' than you let on." Sherlock replied, placing particular attention on Magnussen's word.

Magnussen almost raised a brow and he leant forward on his elbows as he challenged: "Am I?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he also leant his elbows on the table, and he growled softly: "It's the dead-eye stare that gives it away."

Magnussen watched him with the same stare he was accused of, although his pale eyes narrowed slightly.

"Except," Sherlock went on, "it's not dead-eyed, is it?"

He lifted his hands, reaching slowly towards Magnussen's glasses. Magnussen didn't move, sitting calmly as Sherlock removed his glasses and breathed accusingly: "You're reading."

Magnussen just sat and watched as Sherlock examined the glasses, murmuring: "Portable Appledore. How does it work?" He questioned, looking at the man opposite him as Magnussen lowered his gaze. "Built-in flash drive?"

Magnussen didn't answer, and Sherlock asked as he placed the glasses on his own face: "4G wireless?"

Magnussen's eyes flickered up, giving Sherlock his trademark dead-eyed stare. Sherlock had paused, and then he removed the glasses again. Magnussen was watching with a hint of amusement as Sherlock looked down at the glasses and muttered in some surprise: "They're just ordinary spectacles."

"Yes, they are." Magnussen replied dryly.

Sherlock's jaw tightened minutely as he continued to examine the glasses, while Magnussen smirked slightly. The man then reached out, picking aside the leftover pasta on Sherlock's plate as he commented: "You underestimate me, Mr Holmes."

Magnussen picked up the one remaining olive from Sherlock's plate, popping it into his mouth and sucking off his fingers appreciatively. He then reached washed his fingers in Sherlock's cup of water, before taking back his glasses. Sherlock hadn't moved, and he continued to hide his repulsion of the man as he answered flatly: "Impress me, then."

He slowly lifted his eyes back to Magnussen as he demanded quietly: "Show me Appledore."

"Everything's available for a price." Magnussen replied softly. His eyes narrowed slightly and he cocked his head as he asked curiously: "Are you making me an offer?"

"A Christmas present." Sherlock shot back, his lips curling just slightly as he stared right into Magnussen's eyes.

Magnussen smiled slightly, looking a little surprised but appreciative as he questioned: "And what are you giving me for Christmas, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock's face was almost as amused as he replied shortly, and with a smile: "My brother."

* * *

 _Present, at the Holmes residence_

Sherlock's face was grim and his hands were curling with apprehension as he placed on his gloves. John was staring at his best friend in utter disbelief, and he muttered: "Oh, Jesus."

John turned, walking out of the kitchen and into the front room, turning away from the unconscious Mycroft at the dining table. But then he walked past the unconscious Mr. Holmes in the front room, and it was more than he could handle.

John stopped, his hands curling into fists as he closed his eyes and called back to his friend: "Sherlock... _please_ tell me you haven't just gone out of your mind."

Sherlock's face had become determined as he gently pulled the laptop out from under his brother, and he called back: "I'd rather keep you guessing."

John sighed, struggling to calm down, when he suddenly heard the distinct sound of a helicopter. His jaw slacked and his eyes widened as Sherlock commented lightly: "Ah. There's our lift."

John peered out the window in disbelief, and sure enough a helicopter was heading right towards them. John slowly made his way out the front door, staring as the helicopter landed on the field right outside the house. Sherlock commented as he out after John: "Coming?"

" _Where_?" John asked in disbelief as he turned to his friend.

Sherlock stopped beside his short companion, and turned to him to ask flatly: "D'you want your wife to be safe?"

"Yeah, of _course_ I do." John snapped back.

"Good," Sherlock returned, "because this is going to be _incredibly_ dangerous."

Both he and John turned back to the helicopter as Sherlock continued: "One false move and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be in prison for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered, and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us."

John's mouth had been hanging open throughout Sherlock's entire speech, and as Sherlock finished, John moaned: "But it's Christmas _._ "

"I feel the same." Sherlock replied with a light smile as he turned to John, but seeing John's face he sighed: "Oh, you mean it's _actually_ Christmas."

"How can you be smiling? _How_ can you be smiling after you drugged your wife and unborn kid?" John demanded.

"Because I know they'll be safe now." Sherlock replied flatly.

"Did you bring your gun as I suggested?" He added abruptly, clearly telling John that subject was now closed.

John honoured his friend's wish, although he did demand: " _Why_ would I bring my gun to your parents' house for Christmas dinner?!"

"Is it in your coat?" Sherlock asked as he handed John the article of clothing, and John sighed: "Yes."

"Off we go, then." Sherlock said lightly, and as they began to walk off towards the helicopter, John asked again: "Where are we going?"

"Appledore." Sherlock answered simply.

* * *

The helicopter took them directly to the building, landing right outside Magnussen's impressive home. John's face was apprehensive as one of Magnussen's guards walked out to meet them on the front lawn, leading them inside, where they could see Magnussen sitting on a long couch on his first floor as he drank some brandy, staring intently ahead as though watching something

The guard led them through the large house, and John glanced around at the forest of a garden on Magnussen's ground floor as they walked through. Sherlock didn't even glance around, simply keeping his head up straight and forward as they entered the elevator. It beeped as they arrived on Magnussen's first floor, and the guard led them towards the house owner himself.

As Sherlock and John stopped before him, Magnussen nodded at his guards. They quickly left, leaving the three men to talk in privacy, and Magnussen commented lightly: "I would offer you a drink but it's very rare and expensive."

John blinked incredulously, especially when Sherlock calmly settled himself onto the couch beside Magnussen. Setting the laptop down casually beside him, Sherlock saw a screen on the opposite wall, clearly what Magnussen had been watching. He commented lightly: "Oh. It _was_ you."

John frowned, and turned to look as well as Magnussen replied easily: "Yes, of course."

John's mouth fell open as he saw the screen playing footage of Sherlock rescuing John from the Guy Fawkes fire. Sherlock had casually tilted his head away while Magnussen commented: "Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr Holmes. Well, a pressure point I could press without losing a lot of men."

"Mm." Sherlock commented shortly, not bothering to acknowledge Magnussen's veiled jab towards Marie.

John had turned to examine the footage in disbelief as Magnussen continued: "The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you?"

Sherlock shrugged, acknowledging that point, but he tensed as Magnussen purred, staring at the footage: "But look how you care about John Watson. Your _actual_ damsel in distress."

"You ..." John began in shock as he turned back to Magnussen, "put me in a fire ... for leverage?" He asked, biting the words.

Magnussen replied lightly: "Oh, I'd never let you burn, Doctor Watson."

John's jaw slackened, but Magnussen casually placed his glass down on the coffee table, explaining in his soft tone: "I had people standing by."

He straightened, beginning to stand up as he added: "I'm not a murderer... unlike your wife."

John's jaw locked, and he glared at Magnussen. The man smirked a little and Sherlock's eyes lowered slightly, listening intently as Magnussen continued: "Let me explain how leverage works, Doctor Watson."

Magnussen walked over, turning off the screen as he went on: "For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well, apart from me." He added.

John cocked his head, waiting while Sherlock watched Magnussen carefully, his eyes trained on the man intently as Magnussen continued: "Mycroft's pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock."

He looked over at Sherlock as he walked back towards the brunette man.

"Sherlock's pressure point is, of course, his wife Marie."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed just slightly, although he was hardly surprised Magnussen had managed to find out about their marriage.

Magnussen just smiled faintly as he went on, and his smile disappeared: "Unfortunately, Marie is rather skilled and I'd rather not lose my men just to threaten her a little."

John scoffed a little, but Magnussen ignored it as he carried on: "And considering she's still working under MI6, and consequently Mycroft and the British government, it would do more harm than good to expose her secrets."

John's eyes narrowed, and Magnussen looked back at John as he finished up: "So, turning to Sherlock's other pressure point: his best friend, John Watson. John Watson's pressure point is his wife. I own John Watson's wife... I own Mycroft."

He turned to Sherlock, who continued to stare at Magnussen impassively. Magnussen sat back down and he held out his hand expectantly as he purred: " _He's_ what I'm getting for Christmas."

"It's an exchange," Sherlock retorted as he pushed the laptop across the couch to Magnussen, "not a gift."

Magnussen raised a brow and as Sherlock stood back up and re-joined John, Magnussen pointed out dryly: "Forgive me, but..." he stroked the laptop as he stared at Sherlock pointedly, "I already seem to have it."

"It's password protected." Sherlock pointed out with a sneer. Magnussen's hand paused on the laptop, tapping it a little in irritation.

Sherlock ordered: "In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson... as well as all the material you own on my wife."

John blinked in surprise, while Magnussen smiled.

"Oh, so that's what this is about." Magnussen purred softly. "You want to ensure the protection of those you hold dearest… 'Mary Watson' is just another name added to that list. To protect John Watson."

Sherlock didn't move, just watching Magnussen.

"But I wonder if you'd still protect her if you knew, Doctor Watson." Magnussen went on as he turned to John.

John's fists clenched as Magnussen purred: "Oh, she's bad, that one. So many dead people. Worse in some ways than Victoire."

He glanced at Sherlock, but the brunette man remained impassive.

"At least Marie never _chose_ to go into the job she did. 'Mary Watson' however…" Magnussen trailed off pointedly. John's jaw locked and Magnussen grinned: "You should see what I've seen."

"I don't _need_ to see it." John returned, but Magnussen mocked: "You might enjoy it, though. _I_ enjoy it."

He finished suggestively, and John's eyes narrowed.

Sherlock interrupted as he borderline taunted: "Then why don't you _show_ us?"

"Show you Appledore?" Magnussen asked sceptically. He placed the laptop on the couch beside him as he continued: "The secret vaults? Is that what you want?"

"I _want,_ " Sherlock replied sternly, "everything you've got on Mary and Victoire Marie Spencer."

John pursed his lips slightly while Magnussen scoffed lightly. He began chuckling, making John tense and Sherlock frown. John glanced at Sherlock worriedly, before turning back to Magnussen as the man commented: "You know, I honestly expected something good."

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop-" Sherlock began, but Magnussen cut in flatly: "-include a GPS locator."

Sherlock paused, and Magnussen listed: "By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and Security Services will be converging on this house."

He gestured around his home. "Having arrived, they'll find top secret information in my hands, and have every justification to search my vaults."

He picked up his glass of brandy as he went on: "They will discover further information of this kind and I'll be imprisoned. _You_ will be exonerated," he looked at Sherlock pointedly, "and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with your favourite assassin, and Mr and Mrs Psychopath."

John's eyes narrowed further as Magnussen's eyes flickered over to him. Magnussen turned his gaze back to Sherlock as he finished: "Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time." He lifted his glass to his mouth. "He'll be a very, _very_ proud big brother."

Magnussen tipped his glass, finishing his brandy, and Sherlock pointed out quietly: "The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it."

"Then why am I smiling?" Magnussen returned, setting down his glass and smiling beguilingly at Sherlock.

Sherlock pursed his lips, his eyes tightening just slightly. Magnussen purred: "Ask me."

"Why are you smiling?" John asked, saving Sherlock from the task.

Sherlock's eyes had narrowed in thought as Magnussen said flatly: "Because Sherlock Holmes has made one _enormous_ mistake," Sherlock cocked his head in confusion, "which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves... and everything he holds dear."

Sherlock frowned as Magnussen looked at him calmly, his eyes dead as they always were. Magnussen stood up, and smoothed down his suit as he said a little scornfully: "Let me show you the Appledore vaults."

He walked off to the side, heading towards a decorative set of doors. Sherlock and John followed, both slightly puzzled as Magnussen stopped before the doors and proclaimed: "The entrance to my vaults. This is where I keep you all."

He opened the doors, and stepped into the white lit room. Sherlock's eyes widened and his mouth parted slightly in shock as they saw a small room, completely empty except for a single, black chair.

As Magnussen made his way to the chair, John asked, puzzled: "Okay, so where are the vaults, then?"

"Vaults?" Magnussen repeated as he turned back to the pair. " _What_ vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building."

John was frowning while Sherlock had apparently gone into shock as Magnussen sat down in the chair and explained: "They're all in here."

John still looked confused while Sherlock's eyes had begun travelling around the walls of the room in horror.

Magnussen tapped his head as he purred: "The Appledore vaults are my Mind Palace. You know about Mind Palaces, don't you, Sherlock?" He added as he looked over at the man.

Sherlock swallowed hard, his lips thinning as Magnussen taunted: "How to store information so you never forget it, by picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes..."he did so, "and down I go to my vaults."

John's eyes widened as he finally understood while Magnussen continued: "I can go anywhere inside my vaults... my memories. I'll look at the files on Mrs Watson."

He lifted his hands as though mimicking looking through physical files. Sherlock closed his eyes in horror while John cleared his throat.

"Mmm, ah." Magnussen murmured. Sherlock swallowed again, lowering his head slightly.

"This is one of my favourites. Oh, it's so exciting. All those wet jobs for the CIA. Ooh! She's gone a bit ... freelance now."

John's jaw clenched in anger.

"Bad girl. Ohh!" Magnussen laughed. _"_ Ah, she is so wicked."

Magnussen mimed replacing a file into a cabinet as he commented: "I can really see why you like her."

He opened his eyes and he looked back at the other two as he pointed out: "You see?"

Sherlock was standing, almost frozen. His mind was blank and his heart sinking, knowing the full weight of his mistake, while John cleared his throat and checked: "So there are no documents. You don't actually have anything here."

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something," Magnussen replied lightly, "if I really need it," Sherlock was fighting panic as he swallowed again, "but mostly I just remember it all."

"I don't understand." John said bluntly, and Magnussen scoffed: "You should have that on a T-shirt."

"You just remember it all?" John asked sceptically.

Magnussen explained lightly, as though to a child: "It's all about knowledge."

His eyes turned to Sherlock, and he smiled. He taunted the man: "Everything is. Knowing is owning."

"But if you just _know_ it, then you don't have proof." John pointed out, but Magnussen repeated incredulously: "Proof? What would I need proof for?"

John frowned and Magnussen pointed out: "I'm in news, you moron. I don't have to prove it, I just have to print it."

Sherlock was gritting his teeth, looking away as he thought frantically, when Magnussen stood up and added: "Speaking of news, you'll both be heavily featured tomorrow."

Sherlock closed his eyes as Magnussen smiled and mocked: "Trying to sell state secrets to me."

He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. John stared, but Magnussen just said casually: "Let's go outside."

He checked his watch and added: "They'll be here shortly. Can't wait to see you arrested." He tossed over his shoulder as he walked past them, heading for the front doors.

John watched the man leave, and then he turned to his friend, asking quietly: "Sherlock, do we have a plan?"

John looked at Sherlock expectantly, but he slowly began to feel waves of concern and panic as he took in Sherlock's frozen state.

"Sherlock?" He demanded, and he felt the panic begin wash over him as Sherlock lowered his head, not meeting John's eyes. John, unable to stand it anymore, strode away after Magnussen, and as John left, Sherlock closed his eyes in despair.


	21. His Last Vow

Magnussen was waiting outside, where it was now becoming dark. As John joined him, Magnussen commented lightly: "They're taking their time, aren't they? Might be Victoire's efforts to slow them down; she'll have known exactly how this venture would turn out. She understands the psychopath mind too much."

"I still don't understand." John said flatly, and Magnussen commented dryly: "And there's the _back_ of the T-shirt."

"You just _know_ things. How does _that_ work?" John asked in disbelief as he stared at Magnussen in horror.

Sherlock had just joined them outside, finished with his thinking, and Magnussen said derisively: "I just _love_ your little soldier face."

John looked at him in a mix of incredulity and indignation, particularly when Magnussen added: "I'd like to punch it. Bring it over here a minute."

John looked at Sherlock skeptically, and Sherlock gave a tiny nod as Magnussen mocked: "Come on. For Mary. Bring me your face."

John stared at Magnussen in disbelief, before clearing his throat uncomfortably and walking over.

"Lean forward a bit and stick your face out." Magnussen ordered in his soft voice.

John cleared his throat, staring at Magnussen defiantly, but Magnussen asked with a raised brow: "Please?"

John's eyes had narrowed but he did as Magnussen said, staring right into the man's eyes. Magnussen also leaned forward slightly and he asked: "Now, can I flick it?"

John shook his head, more out of incredulity than anything else, and Sherlock's fist curled as he watched.

"Can I flick your face?" Magnussen repeated. John just stood, silently giving permission, and Magnussen slowly lifted his hand. He flicked John's cheek, making John twitch, but other than that John stood defiantly as Magnussen continued.

"I just _love_ doing this." Magnussen murmured with a chuckle. "I could do it all day."

He chuckled as he looked over at Sherlock, who was standing by the door impassively. John's eyes had narrowed in anger, and Magnussen turned back to the shorter man.

"It works like this, John." Magnussen explained. "I know who Mary hurt and killed."

He flicked John's face again.

"I know where to find people who hate her."

Magnussen flicked John again, twice.

"I know where they live; I know their phone numbers."

He flicked John again, and then again, before he taunted: "All in my Mind Palace – _all_ of it. I could phone them right now, and tear your whole life down."

John's eyes were filled with anger and hate as he stared at Magnussen, but the man wasn't done.

"I could do that to Mary, your unborn child… and Marie."

Sherlock's jaw clenched as John's eyes became flinty. Magnussen smiled and he went on: "And I _will_ ... unless you let me flick your face."

He flicked John's face again, and again. John stood his ground, although he was starting to flinch more as the pain started to become unbearable. Sherlock's eyes had gone cold as he watched, while Magnussen mocked: "This is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries ... just because I _know._ "

He finally leant back, spreading his arms at the world, but then he suddenly leant back down as he asked with a mocking smile: "Can I do your eye now?"

He flicked John's eye without waiting, making John close it with a small flinch. Magnussen taunted: "See if you can keep it open, hmm?"

He flicked John's eye again, and as John continued to flinch his eye shut, Magnussen mocked, smiling manically: "Come on. For Mary. Keep it open."

"Sherlock?" John bit out at last, but Sherlock murmured back: "Let him. I'm sorry. Just ... let him."

His voice had wavered slightly, which worried John more. Magnussen grinned and he jeered: "Come on. Eye open."

He flicked John's eye again, and again, as each time John flinched it shut. Magnussen began to laugh, almost like a lunatic as he mocked: "It's difficult, isn't it?"

John glared as Magnussen straightened up and taunted: "Janine managed it once. She makes the funniest noises." He chuckled.

"Although apparently Victoire is better; apparently she's quite the screamer." He looked at Sherlock pointedly, making the other man's eyes narrow in anger.

But they were interrupted as they heard a helicopter flying towards them. All three men glanced up as they watched a helicopter fly around the house, moving to hover before the front door. John glanced around as he saw several squads of Secret Service agents running towards the house, guns raised towards them as the helicopter shot a search light down at them.

Mycroft's voice called over the helicopter loud speakers: "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Stand away from that man."

"Here we go, Mr Holmes!" Magnussen called above the whirring helicopter blades, as he gestured for Sherlock to step forward.

"To clarify," Sherlock shouted back as he walked over, "Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there."

"They're not real." Magnussen confirmed, not even looking over as he stared triumphantly at Mycroft in the helicopter cab. "They never _have_ been."

Sherlock bowed his head slightly, glancing down at John, as Mycroft called again sharply: "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Step _away._ "

"It's fine!" Magnussen shouted back, stepping towards the helicopter as he taunted Mycroft: "They're harmless!"

"Sherlock, what do we do?" John demanded anxiously, and Magnussen replied for the curly-haired detective: " _Nothing_! There's nothing to be done!"

He turned to John as he pointed out contemptuously: "Oh, I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a businessman, acquiring assets. _You_ happen to be one of them!"

He nodded at John before he turned to Sherlock and finished scathingly: "Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero _this_ time, Mr Holmes."

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," Mycroft demanded, "stand away from that man. Do it _now_."

Magnussen turned back to the helicopter with a triumphant smile, and Sherlock shouted at last: "Oh, _do_ your research."

He reached into John's pocket, and before John could react he walked forward towards Magnussen, saying: "I'm not a hero."

Magnussen smiled indulgently, but it turned into a frown as Sherlock finished: "I'm a high-functioning sociopath. _Merry Christmas!_ "

With that, he lifted the gun he'd pulled from John's pocket and with his teeth grit in determination, he fired a bullet at Magnussen's head. The shot rang through the entire estate, and Sherlock dropped the gun as soon as Magnussen's body fell dead to the ground.

He turned to face the helicopter, raising his hands in surrender as he shouted at John: "Get away from me, John! Stay well back!"

" _Christ_ , Sherlock!" John shouted, aghast as he stepped a little back, lifting his own hands in surrender as his eyes filled with tears of despair and he stared at Magnussen's prone body on the ground.

"Stand fire!" Mycroft shouted into his mic. "Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! _Do not fire!_ "

"Oh, _Christ_ , Sherlock." John gasped as several Secret Service agents trained their guns on Sherlock, the red sniper lasers dancing all over Sherlock's body.

Sherlock turned slightly to his friend, and as John stared at him, gasping, Sherlock gave a small smile.

"Give my love to Mary." He said firmly, and John almost lowered his hands in anguish.

Sherlock paused, and seemed on the brink of saying something else, before he finished: "Tell her she's safe now."

John's face paled, and he cried: "What about-?"

But Sherlock turned back to the front, and John saw the look on Sherlock's face as he did. John's heart broke at the utter desolation on the detective's face, and all he could do was whisper: "Oh, Christ."

Inside the helicopter, Mycroft also caught the look on Sherlock's face as Sherlock sank to his knees, allowing the Secret Service agents to come up and pin him down. Mycroft removed his headset, staring in horror and he whispered brokenly as he stared down at his little brother: "Oh, Sherlock. What have you done?"

In his mind's eye, Mycroft saw the little boy Sherlock, crying silently as he held his hands up, facing the repercussions for his actions.

* * *

 _The next day_

"You have ten minutes."

"She has fifteen." Mycroft's voice corrected without inflection.

Sherlock looked up as the door to his holding cell opened and Marie stepped inside. His heart clenched as he took in her state. She had clearly been crying, and heavily so by her red-rimmed eyes and the tear tracks on her face. She'd also clearly made no effort to clean herself up for the visit, letting Sherlock know she was also ticked off with him.

"I will come back to pick you up." Mycroft told Marie, and she nodded without looking back.

Mycroft levelled one look over Marie's shoulder at Sherlock before he closed the door, leaving the pair inside. Sherlock silently held out his arms and Marie stepped into them without a sound.

"I missed you." He whispered, and she almost snapped, although her voice cracked: "Then you shouldn't have done it."

Sherlock simply bowed his head, softly kissing the top of her head. She whispered, her voice trembling: "Sherlock, the verdict-"

"I know." He sighed, and she clutched him.

He could feel the baby bump and he swallowed before he murmured softly, pressing his mouth against the top of her head: "Do you remember when I proposed to you?"

"Of course." She whispered, her voice thick with tears.

Marie would never forget the night Sherlock had explained his plan to get to Magnussen, on the balcony outside of John's wedding venue. She'd unhappily agreed with his plan, before he'd suggested they leave early and spend their last night together in their flat.

She'd naturally agreed, but it turned out he'd had a surprise planned for her. When they'd returned to the safety of their flat, Sherlock had gently kissed her before getting on his knee before her. To say Marie had been surprised was probably the understatement of her life. Sherlock didn't have a ring, he couldn't, and she couldn't wear it anyway with his plan. But the fact that he'd asked had been enough.

"I told you I loved you, and I would always protect you." Sherlock murmured, and Marie chuckled slightly.

"Yeah, you broke your word to John and Mary about two hours after you made your promise to them. Never make another vow my arse." She muttered.

"It was worth it to make the most important vow to the most important woman in the world." Sherlock murmured.

Marie smiled slightly, and then she sighed. She leant her head against Sherlock's chest, breathing in deeply.

"You know I would go with you." Marie whispered at last and Sherlock shook his head.

"No, I couldn't bear it if you were to be harmed, especially if it was because of me." He said softly.

She gave a watery chuckle as she countered: "Yes, that's what got you in this mess in the first place."

They stayed in their embrace and Marie whispered brokenly: "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. If I'd just taken him down earlier-"

Sherlock cut her off quickly: "No, Marie. There's nothing for you to be sorry for."

She nodded as the tears began to slide down her cheeks. Sherlock felt the wetness on his shirt and the way her body trembled, and he pulled back, brushing the tears off her cheeks.

He leaned in, kissing her gently before bending to kneel before her and placing a gentle kiss on her stomach. He swallowed hard as he realized he would never be able to see his child born. He would never hold his child in his arms, never watch it grow up… never see Marie kiss it goodnight with him at her side.

Marie sobbed, clearly thinking the same thing and Sherlock stood, pulling her into his arms once more, letting her cry into his chest as tears of his own welled. He allowed one to slip out as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. They stayed like that for the remainder of their time together, before Mycroft returned to escort Marie out.

When the door opened to let them know their time was up, Sherlock gave one last tight hug before he let go. Marie, however, refused to let him go that easily, leaning up to kiss him. Sherlock answered softly, both breaking off quickly as Mycroft cleared his throat.

"I love you." Marie whispered in his ear and Sherlock swallowed.

"As I love you." He answered quietly.

Marie turned sad green eyes on him, continuing to meet his eyes even as she slowly made her way out of the cell. Mycroft silently led her away, and both she and Sherlock's hearts shattered as the guard closed the door on Sherlock, separating the couple once more.

* * *

A few days later

John, Mary, and Marie drove in silence to the airport, the blonde couple watching the brunette woman worriedly. She was just staring out the window absently, not speaking or reacting in any way as they pulled up before the small charter plane.

John swallowed as he saw Sherlock standing by the foot of steps leading up to the plane, waiting patiently while Mycroft stood beside him. Taking a deep breath, John opened the door, turning to help Mary out as Marie got out on the other side.

Sherlock smiled a little as Mary gave Sherlock a sad smile, and as the blonde woman walked over to hug him, Sherlock murmured: "You _will_ look after him for me, won't you?"

"Oh." Mary sighed and she kissed his cheek before hugging him.

"Don't worry." Mary promised as she held on tight. "I'll keep him in trouble. Him and Marie."

Sherlock smiled a little and as Mary let go, he murmured: "That's my girl."

"Don't let Marie hear you say that." Mary teased half-heartedly. Her smile was wavering just slightly, and Mary began: "Sherlock, I-"

"No, it was my own fault." Sherlock cut off her apology.

Mary smiled sadly once more, and Sherlock nodded at John over Mary's shoulder. Mary took the hint and after giving him one more apologetic pat, she walked back towards John. The man was still standing by the car door, watching them.

Sherlock's eyes flickered over to Marie, standing even further back as she too remained by her door beside the car, before he glanced back at John. John was standing determinedly waiting, and as Mary rubbed John's arm, Sherlock turned to Mycroft.

"Since this is likely to be the last conversation I'll have with John Watson," he asked his brother pointedly, "would you mind if we took a moment?"

Mycroft almost rolled his eyes, but simply nodded. He jerked his head at the guard beside Sherlock, and they left, heading off to give the other two men some privacy. Mary, also taking the hint, walked further away, joining Marie as they watched their husbands from a distance.

John finally stepped forward, and he commented as he strode up to Sherlock: "So, here we are."

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes." Sherlock said rather abruptly.

"Sorry?" John asked in surprise and confusion.

Sherlock explained quickly: "That's the whole of it – if you're looking for baby names. Although," he added hastily, "I think Scott is going to be taken if, if it comes down to that."

He faltered slightly. John's eyes flashed with pain but he just snorted, before he told Sherlock with forced levity: "Hm, well William can be taken as well. We've had a scan. We're pretty sure it's a girl."

"Oh. Okay." Sherlock smiled, and John grinned back. Both their smiles were strained however, and it dropped pretty quickly.

The pair shifted uncomfortably, and John admitted after a while: "Yeah. Actually, I can't think of a single thing to say."

"No, neither can I." Sherlock admitted.

They stood in silence for another moment, and John sighed.

"The game is over." He said at last, his brows working furiously as he tried to keep his emotions in check.

Sherlock corrected with a small sigh: "The game is never over, John ... but there may be some new players now."

His blue eyes flickered over to Marie once more. John saw the look and his face became grim, but before he could say anything, Sherlock added: "It's okay. 'The East Wind takes us all in the end'."

"What's that?" John asked in confusion.

Sherlock shrugged a little as he explained: "It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. 'The East Wind'- this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path. It seeks out the unworthy, and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me." He added.

"Nice." John muttered sarcastically.

Sherlock added, glancing towards Mycroft: "He was a rubbish big brother."

John smiled, knowing there was no bite in Sherlock's words. Sherlock answered it, and John scuffed his foot slightly, debating. He finally cleared his throat, asking quietly: "So what about you, then? Where are you actually going now?"

"Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe." Sherlock answered lightly. But John saw the way Sherlock's face became grim, and his eyes flickered to Marie once more.

"For how long?" John asked softly.

"Six months, my brother estimates." Sherlock replied.

John swallowed, but then he was winded as Sherlock added quietly: "Five by Marie's estimate. She's never wrong."

John swallowed, hard, nodding determinedly. But even though he tried to hide his pain, John couldn't and he quickly turned his head before he did something embarrassing like cry.

But John returned his attention to Sherlock as the taller man began softly: "John, there's something ... I should say."

John looked at him expectantly, and Sherlock's eyes were shifting uneasily as he continued: "I-I've _meant_ to say always and then never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now."

John frowned slightly.

' _Why does it feel like I'm at the receiving end of a confession?'_ He wondered briefly as he waited for Sherlock to finish his sentence.

Sherlock said at last: "Sherlock is actually a girl's name."

John began laughing, and Sherlock cracked a smile. John continued chuckling as he returned: "It's not."

"It was worth a try." Sherlock replied with a smile.

"We're not naming our daughter after you." John chuckled, and Sherlock shrugged as he answered: "I think it could work."

John snorted, and the pair fell silent once more. John glanced at Sherlock, his smile fading and his face becoming grim once more. Sherlock's lips twitched up into a smile and he held up his hand.

"To the very best of times, John." Sherlock said quietly. John hesitated, swallowing hard once more, before he firmly took Sherlock's hand. They shook hands just once, although their grasp lingered for a moment longer than necessary. But the time had come and John let go.

As he did, Sherlock's eyes slid behind John once more. John glanced back, and Marie and Mary walked over as John headed back. Mary stopped by the car, and John headed back to his wife as Marie walked on ahead alone. John nodded at her as she went past, and she just gave a short jerk of her head.

John joined Mary as Marie reached Sherlock, reaching up to hug him for the last time. Sherlock clung to her, feeling the baby bump once more, and he swallowed hard. He finally pulled back slightly, brushing his hands across Marie's cheeks as he gazed into her bright green eyes.

"I'll always love you." He murmured and she nodded.

Her eyes were shining with repressed tears as she promised him: "And you will always be in my heart."

Sherlock smiled and then nodded at her stomach.

"Take care of him or her. And let them know I am so sorry and that I love them." Sherlock murmured.

Marie nodded, swallowing hard. Sherlock leaned down, kissing her softly. She kissed back, a tear falling down her cheek even though she'd tried so hard not to cry.

The kiss deepened, becoming more desperate as Marie clutched Sherlock's upper arms and he hugged her as tightly as he dared. But everything had its time, and their time was up. Sherlock brushed his lips over Marie's one last time before he let go.

Marie let out one sob, clutching Mary's hand as the other woman walked up and wrapped a comforting arm around her friend. John stood beside them in a stoic show of support as the three watched Sherlock walk away, heading over to his brother.

Mycroft had been watching with raised brows, but he nodded once in farewell to his brother as Sherlock passed him. Sherlock returned the gesture before making his way up the steps, only looking back once. His blue eyes bore into Marie's for one second and she choked on a sob as he then turned and disappeared into the plane.

Mary hugged her friend tightly and John wrapped his arm around them both as Marie broke down into tears. Mycroft walked back to them as the plane took off, taking Sherlock away. Forever.

He sighed as he took in Marie's devastated state and John glanced back accusingly at Mycroft's cold demeanour. But Mycroft had long forgotten what it was like to comfort another person- if he'd ever known it at all- and he simply got back into his car. And at that moment his phone rang.

* * *

Sherlock had been gazing morosely out the window, thinking sadly about Marie, when one of the attendants called: "Sir?"

Sherlock glanced over, and the man held out a phone, explaining: "It's your brother."

Sherlock frowned slightly but took the phone, asking into it: "Mycroft?"

"Hello, little brother. How is the exile going?" Mycroft asked easily, and Sherlock pointed out a little irritated with his brother's lack of tact: "I've only been gone four minutes."

"Well, I certainly hope you've learned your lesson." Mycroft replied, and Sherlock frowned slightly, lifting his head in disbelief as Mycroft continued: "As it turns out, you're needed."

"Oh, for God's sake. Make up your mind." Sherlock snapped, but his voice held no real bitterness.

Hope returned to him as he questioned: "Who needs me this time?"

"England _._ " Mycroft answered flatly.

Sherlock frowned, puzzled, wondering what that meant. But Mycroft was staring at the screen in his screen, showing an image of a beaming man with short brown hair and manic dark, almost black eyes. The same image that was playing across every screen all over England, playing the same message: "Did you miss me?"

Marie was clutching her stomach, her face white, while John was supporting the woman. He was honestly afraid she was going to pass out or worse in her current state.

Mary was protesting as she fluttered her hands about, trying to help as well: "But he's dead. I mean, you told me he was dead, Moriarty."

"Absolutely. He blew his own brains out." John muttered, trying to keep Marie up as Mary tried to help while keeping one hand on her own bulging stomach.

Mary demanded as she rubbed soothing circles on her ashen friend's back: "So how can he be back?"

Marie moaned and Mary fussed: "It's okay, just keep breathing."

Marie took deep breaths, while John paused, glancing off into the distance.

"Well, if he is," John said suddenly and both women looked over at him, "he'd better wrap up warm."

Marie turned to look and her eyes widened and her heart leapt. John sighed as Mary also turned to look, while John muttered dryly: "There's an East Wind coming."

The three watched as Sherlock's plane, having made a U-turn, came back down onto the runway. Marie smiled, suddenly feeling- despite everything and even Moriarty's supposed return- that everything was going to be okay. _Sherlock._

*A/N Thank you to everyone who read and supported this story! I may or may not do 'Abominable Bride' depending on how many of you ask, so please let me know in the reviews if you would like more! Otherwise,I'm afraid a sequel will have to wait until BBC finally decides to grace us with the next season (2017!) but I wanted to thank each and every person once again for sticking with this book until its end. Until next time!


	22. SEQUEL POSTED

Sequel is up! Focused on the events that occur in The Abonimable Bride, it is called 'Tempting the Odds' and can also be found on my profile! Hope to see you all there!


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